


The Boy with the Broken Halo

by StarWitness42



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Like, M/M, Organized Crime, TW: Self Harm, TW: Violence, aaron is a drug dealer, aaron is not in a good place, and robert doesn't know how to deal with that at first, and there will be a happy ending, robert is a tart, serious trigger warning for self harm, so darkness with a spot of light is the ultimate idea, so i thought i'd add some more tags, the darkness passes eventually though, this story got a bit darker than expected, tw: mentions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 186,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWitness42/pseuds/StarWitness42
Summary: Wherein Aaron is still with the MacFarlanes and Robert is still a cold, self-serving chancer. Hold onto your hats, folks! It’s a good old-fashioned Mob AU!
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Comments: 2448
Kudos: 1169





	1. Same Old Thing

Robert’s skin is boiling, and not in the fun way where you see someone you want to fuck and you can’t wait to get their kit off. No, he’s already past that point, courtesy of the naked man draped across him making his _skin boil_. 

Grayson is a good shag; that’s never been the issue. Maybe the sex was a touch more exciting when Robert was still as married as Grayson is, back when things were taboo on both ends of the pitch. But even then, he could definitely use some tips when it came to post-sex cuddling. 

Tip number one: Don’t do it. 

Tip number two: Seriously mate, there are no other tips. Just _don’t._

They’ve just finished their second round of the night, a spirited bout that resulted in their neighbours pounding on their hotel wall for not the first time since this particular affair started. But even though his cock is still throbbing, all Robert can think about is his flaming hard-boiled skin. 

He’s bored, is likely the problem. Grayson was fun the same way Connor was fun before him, and Stephen before that. The way Rebecca was fun, most of the time. And Julie, for a bit. 

But there’s no danger in it anymore, not a lick of suspense since Chrissie found out he was screwing her sister. And Robert’s legitimately at the point where he’s going to chuck Grayson off the bed if he doesn’t stop bloody _cuddling_ into his side like a needy wife. 

Grayson is saved by the bell, or rather by the knock, a few moments later. And normally Robert would be annoyed by the presence of an interloper, but the thought of allowing the sweat to properly evaporate from his skin is akin to another orgasm at this point. 

Gasping doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“It must be my dealer,” Grayson says breathlessly as he wraps himself in the hotel’s complimentary chenille dressing gown and heads for the door of the en-suite bedroom paid for by Grayson’s rather large surgeon’s salary. 

That’s one thing he’ll miss when this dalliance inevitably ends, the posh hotels in the center of downtown. Because Robert’s a successful businessman, but even he can’t afford this kind of luxury on a regular basis. 

“I thought you were trying to cut back on all of that,” Robert replies because he’s polite and stuff. 

Grayson shoots him a smile that would’ve had Robert’s dick jumping a few months ago, his dark eyes devilish when he replies, “I have. I thought tonight could be special though. Never fucked you on ecstasy before.” 

Robert smiles back weakly, wonders if it might not be beneficial to join Grayson in the fun. Only he knows _fun_ won’t really be the word for it at all once this so-called “party” gets started. 

In all possible ways, Grayson is a lightweight. Which means he’ll get high, make a meek attempt at a proper bottom for Robert and then pass out like an unpleasant starfish pressing Robert into the bed. 

He hears the door open a few moments later, flooding the space outside the bedroom with light. And he’s seriously considering rolling over and hanging a metaphorical Do Not Disturb sign on his arse when the sound of Grayson’s drug dealer’s voice reaches his ears. 

It’s gruff, probably the way you’d assume all drug dealers sound, but there’s something else beneath it. Something that sends an unexpected thrill up Robert’s spine. And so he’s on his feet immediately, tugging on his boxers and practically tripping out the door like he’s Pavlov’s dog himself. 

It’s ridiculous, really, to get so worked up over a voice. But once he sees what’s attached to the voice, he understands his reaction entirely, like he’s got some kind of sexual ESP. 

Fit doesn’t even begin to describe the bloke. A punch to the face is more like it, unexpected and entirely unavoidable as he stands there in skinny black jeans that are practically painted on, clinging for dear life to a set of strong thighs and a perfectly sculpted arse that Robert wouldn’t mind burying himself in.

His back is to Robert as he natters on about Drug Deal this and Service with a Smile that while Grayson manages to just stand there blathering on like there isn’t a walking, talking invitation to debauchery staring him straight in the face. 

There’s possibly something wrong with him, that’s the thought that slips through Robert’s head as he makes his way to the kitchenette’s small breakfast island in the hopes of hiding his already fairly suspect hard-on from the other occupants of the room. But his movement does little to calm the way his skin is boiling in all the _right ways_ when it causes the friendly neighborhood drug dealer to turn his gaze on Robert. 

He tries to work out the exact blue of the bloke’s eyes, but the closest he can get is the inner part of a flame, the one that takes your skin off before you even realize you’ve touched it. 

The man, with his dark, sculpted hair and thick, inviting scruff, gives him a once over, his eyes raking over Robert’s exposed skin in a way that makes him shiver. 

“As I was saying,” he says, turning his eyes slowly back to Grayson. “Cal is running a two-for-one deal for all of his more loyal customers, so this lot,” he holds up a bag of various colored pills, “is half off.”

“That’s great, Aaron. Tell Cal that’s really great of him,” Grayson replies like an overly eager puppy dog. But even though he continues talking about God knows what, Robert stopped listening three words in. 

_Aaron_. His name is Aaron. 

“So half the usual, then,” Aaron says, kickstarting Robert’s brain once again. And he looks nervous now, agitated maybe, shifting from foot to foot like _he’s_ the one on drugs even though his eyes are clear as a bell when they drift over to Robert once more. 

Robert does his best to stifle a groan as he presses the heel of his hand into his crotch in an attempt to calm things downstairs. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Here you go,” Grayson interrupts the seedling of Robert’s sexual fantasy, handing over a wad of cash and using his other hand to skate up Aaron’s arm before squeezing at the rather impressive bicep hiding beneath a purple hoodie that’s doing him few favours. 

He can’t believe that Grayson has the audacity to flirt with his drug dealer while Robert is in the room. But if he’s honest with himself, he’s really more bothered that _he’s_ not the one doing the flirting. 

The things he would do to that tight body. 

“Thanks,” Aaron says awkwardly. “I best be getting off. Lots of deliveries still to make. You two enjoy.” 

Robert’s brain turns right back to mush the second Aaron’s eyes sweep back to him. 

He drags them down Robert’s body again, or the half not hidden by the island anyway, rakes them over his skin like blunt nails, leaving marks. And then, like some kind of wanton harlot, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and pins it there as if he’s completely oblivious to what the gesture is capable of. 

Aaron the Drug Dealer really might as well just drop his trousers and bend over the counter for all that action does to Robert. 

It’s completely involuntary, what Robert does next. The slight whimper that escapes his lips as he presses against the counter and reaches down to cup himself even more blatantly than before, desperate for some sort of pressure. But if either of the other men in the room notice, they thankfully don’t comment. 

Aaron is gone a moment later, leaving Robert stuck with The Mad Cuddler. But Robert isn’t too fussed about all that now because at least he’ll be getting his dick wet soon. And he knows exactly what he’ll be picturing when he does.

The rest of the night goes as predicted. Grayson gets high, Grayson lets Robert fuck him, Grayson passes out on Robert like a dead weight. But as Grayson lies there, dead to the world, Robert remains wide awake, staring at the ceiling, _thinking_. 

Plotting. 

It takes him about an hour to get up the courage to do what he wants to do - to slide out from under Grayson, dig through his trouser pockets, and pull out Grayson’s phone. 

Once he uses Grayson’s thumb to unlock it, he begins searching through his contacts, his messages, his recent calls, _anything_ to help him find Aaron the Drug Dealer’s number. 

Surprisingly, that’s not how he’s listed in Grayson’s phone. 

Eventually he comes across something promising. An unsaved number with a long series of texts to it listing random numbers and letters and less random addresses.

Robert’s heart races as he programs the number into his phone, hoping it’s the right one and hoping further that he’ll find the bottle to use it himself. But either way, it makes him feel a little better as he resigns himself to his fate of a night of cuddling with Grayson, boiling skin n’all. 

Robert doesn’t use drugs. But that doesn’t mean Robert can’t buy them. 

~*~

The air is frigid outside as Aaron makes his way to the club, the frozen wind clawing into his bones, burrowing deep. 

It was a good night for the MacFarlanes, which means Aaron feels less secure walking with thousands of pounds stuffed into his pockets like candy.

It’s not like he can’t defend himself. He’s been boxing since he was sixteen, carrying a knife almost as long, but he’d prefer not to use either one of those weapons if he can manage. 

His stint in youth offenders made him realize quickly that he had no interest in big boy prison. 

He should probably be in one of Cal’s SUVs right now, getting shuttled around safely like Cal’s other dealers. But to Aaron, those cliche black monstrosities are more of a magnet for coppers and thieves than one man in a hoodie walking through the streets of Leeds. 

Still doesn’t make him feel any less vulnerable. 

He breathes a little easier once he reaches Flash. Everyone knows it’s the MacFarlane’s club, including the plain clothes copper sitting in his unmarked motor across the street. But despite the giant bullseye painted across the entire corner, it’s still one of the few places in the city where Aaron actually feels safe. 

He grew up here. It’s almost like home. 

He makes his way down the alley to the back door of the club, rapping on the metal door three times, then two times, then four times before he’s finally let in. And the second he crosses the threshold, it’s like being absorbed in quicksand. 

His ears close up in protection against the sound, the bass so heavy that Aaron couldn’t place the song if you put a gun to his head and said his life depended on it. He doesn’t need sound to navigate the club, though. Hell, he doesn’t even need _sight_ for that. He’s got the halls memorized so he could walk ‘em in his sleep. 

Which is why it takes him less than a minute to reach Cal’s office and its unassuming, unmarked, steel-reinforced door that looks just like every other door in the hallway. 

There isn’t a special knock needed for this door. There are so many security personnel between the back door, the front door, and here that Cal doesn’t need to worry about who’s knocking on his door. 

“Come in!” he calls out, his voice muffled through the steel. 

Aaron has known Cal MacFarlane for going on a decade now. He practically grew up with the man, saw him as more of a father than his own deadbeat one. And yet every time they share a room, Aaron feels like he needs to hold his breath. 

“How was the haul tonight?” Cal asks, his face turned down, his attention buried in paperwork. 

“It was good,” is Aaron’s only reply because Cal will know immediately what that means. 

If Aaron says it was good, then it was far beyond that. 

Cal looks up and smiles, the one that always reminds Aaron that even when he’s wearing his sheep’s clothing, Cal is still a wolf. 

“Well, give it here,” he says, not cruelly, but not kindly either as he gets to his feet and makes his way over to the safe built into the wall. 

Aaron fishes through his pockets, making sure to get every last pound that wasn’t there before the night started. But even though he knows he’s not cheating Cal, he still feels nervous as he hands the stacks of pounds over to him. Like that feeling you get when you walk through security sensors in a store only times about a thousand. 

“Anything happen I should know about?” Cal asks. Clarifying with, “Any problems? People that need… dealing with?” 

Aaron knows what that means, the same way he knows someone would have to chop off one of his limbs to get him to report them to Cal. 

He knows what Cal is capable of. He’s _seen it_ , first hand. And it’s not a fate he’d wish on even his worst enemy. 

“Everything went smoothly,” he says blandly, evening out his tone of voice so as not to be caught in a lie he isn’t even telling. 

Cal closes the safe and looks at him, looks _over_ him, checking for any soft spots before smiling again, patting Aaron on the shoulder, and saying, “Good lad.” 

The gesture should make him feel calmer, but it doesn’t. It never does. 

He’s on his way home a few minutes later, _Cal’s home_ as well because there’s nothing in Aaron’s life that he actually owns, up to and including his own skin. At least he’s not sleeping rough, though. That’s a memory he could do with forgetting. 

Here and now, Aaron has a roof over his head. A fairly extravagant one in a large house with spacious grounds just outside the Leeds city centre. A house surrounded by security, a house where he should feel _safe_ , but one that still feels too much like a prison cell for his comfort. 

His head isn’t any clearer by the time he gets to his room, stripping down to his boxers and crawling into bed as gently as possible in the hopes of not waking the other person lying there. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Aaron?” Meg asks on a yawn as she rolls over to face his side of the bed. 

“Go back to sleep, yeah?” he says quietly, settling into the posh duvet that always felt a little too fancy for him. 

“Mmm, not until you tell me how your night went,” she replies, her voice gaining strength as she moves closer to full consciousness. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t wanna tell her. These late night conversations with Meg are some of his favorite moments in the week. But unlike him, Meg has a regular, nine-to-five job, and so talking to him at half three in the morning is gonna mess with her far more than it’ll mess with him. 

“It went fine, Meg. Just go back to sleep.” 

She finally opens her eyes only to give Aaron a death glare. 

“Did you see dad?” 

Ah. That’s what she’s getting at. 

“I did see Cal, and he was fine too.” 

She bites her lip, buries her face half into her pillow before asking, “He didn’t suspect anything, right?” 

“What, that I’m gay and you’re sleeping with a banker? You ask me every night and the answer’s always gonna be the same. No, he doesn’t suspect.” 

She gives him the puppy dog eyes, her most vicious weapon. 

“What if it’s not always the same?” 

He reaches out to tuck a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Then we deal, yeah?” 

She nods, but her face is so open and worried that she looks almost like a child here, even though she’s exactly the same age as he is. 

“Tell me about your night,” she says with fake brightness in a thinly veiled attempt to pull them into calmer waters. “Any new customers I should know about?” 

Something flashes in his mind at that, blond hair, green eyes, and miles of freckles that Aaron had had the strange urge to trace with his tongue. 

“Same old, same old,” he says with a shrug that loses its effect given the way he’s lying down. 

She smiles wickedly, the same wolf in sheep’s clothing one her father possesses only on her, it’s more devious than deadly. 

“Anyone try it on?” she asks with a poke to Aaron’s ribs. 

When Aaron started out dealing, he used to wear suits in an attempt to make himself look more professional. He soon found out that he had a face that few people would turn away, which basically meant he got phone numbers shoved in his pocket on the daily. 

He dresses down now, strictly jeans, trainers, and hoodies. But still, to this day, he can’t go one night without some man or woman trying it on. And Meg is not one to let him forget it. 

“Maybe a little,” he says shyly as he squirms in the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable. 

“You know, I’d be jealous if I had even a remote sexual attraction to you.” 

He snorts. “Right back atcha.” 

Meg laughs at that, before scooting herself into his personal space. 

“What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously. 

“I want to cuddle.” 

Aaron holds her at arm’s length. “You just had sex with another man a few hours ago, and now you expect me to give you your post-sex cuddle fix?” 

“Ugh,” she replies, shoving herself away from him. “You had to make it sound gross, didn’t you?” 

He laughs. “You’re like a sister to me, Meg. Everything about you is gross.” 

“So why are you marrying me then?” 

“Easy. Because your dad paid me.” 

She smacks him hard, a sharp reminder that she’s been taking boxing lessons since she was sixteen too, right alongside him.

“He promised me a home for life,” he continues, undeterred by her violence. “Or at least until you cark it. Have you seen the cost of properties in the city? I couldn’t pass that deal up.” 

“I hate you,” she says petulantly, but Aaron just grabs her and pulls her close. 

“I know you do.” 

He holds her for a few minutes, just feeling her breath even out as he stares at the ceiling and thinks about nothing and everything all at once. But even though his skin is kinda boiling from having another person so close beside him, he doesn’t move. He just holds on tight and hopes to hell that _not always the same_ never comes. 


	2. The Go Getter

“I think you should wear the black one. No, wait, the _black_ one! Or how about this one?” Meg asks, reaching around where Aaron is stood in front of his wardrobe in just his boxers, trying to figure out what to wear tonight. 

“That one’s blue,” he grits out as he pulls the arm of the offending suit jacket from between her fingers. 

“Really? Are you sure? Because everything in here looks pretty much like the definition of a black hole to me.” 

“You’re a black hole,” he grumbles under his breath, but she’s plenty close enough to hear the insult. 

“Yikes, someone’s feeling narky tonight. What crawled up your arse and died?” 

She backs away from him at that, plopping down on their bed and pulling her knees up to tuck them under her chin. 

“Nothing,” he says in his most apologetic tone, the one he’s told sounds like someone is pulling his teeth out with a pair of pliers while playing cheesy teen pop in the background. “I just have an important meeting tonight s’all, and I wanna look…”

“Smart?” she supplies.

He turns around to look at her. “Is it bad that I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not?” 

She tilts her head and sighs. “Normally I’d bet on sarcastic, but I’m trying to be genuine here. What’s going on that you need to pick out your best black suit?” 

He bites his lip, withholds the information for as long as he can until she starts to actually look worried. 

“A meeting with the Irish.” 

Her eyes bug almost completely out of her head as she gets to her feet, grabbing Aaron’s arms and stopping him from turning around like he really wants to right now. 

“Please tell me I heard you wrong.” 

He hangs his head, knowing he’s not got an answer she’s gonna like. A fact proven by the way she shakes him roughly. 

“Aaron, please tell me my father is not dragging you out to meet his contacts in the flipping Irish mob.”

He looks her in the eye, but it physically pains him to hold the contact, so he’s forced to look down again. 

“If it makes you feel any better, all your brothers are coming along as well.” 

“I’m not worried about my brothers, you idiot. I’m worried about _you_.”

“Cheers for that,” he says bitterly, staring back at her finally with steel in his gaze. “What, you think I can’t handle meself? That I’m gonna take one look at a coupla heavy hitters and bottle it?” 

“Of course not,” she dismisses as she finally releases her hold on him. “I’m worried about you digging yourself even deeper into my dad’s business than you already are.” 

He snorts out a laugh at that, waving his arms in the air. “Look where I’m living, Meg. Look who I’m _marrying_. I don’t think I could get much deeper if I tried.” 

“Yeah, well, then maybe you should stop trying,” she mutters, the words low enough for her to falsely make out like she didn’t mean for him to hear them. 

Plausible deniability. That’s Meg all over.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, suddenly acutely aware that he’s still standing there in just his pants. But even if it’s not the kind of conversation he wants to have near starkers, he’s in it now. Not much he can do about it. 

She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs like she’s a literal toddler, which is not a good look on a twenty-six year old marketing executive. 

“You know _exactly_ what it’s supposed to mean, Aaron.” 

They’ve had this conversation hundreds of times before, mostly since they got engaged about six months back at her father’s request. It’s the one where Meg begs Aaron to run away and leave her family behind and where Aaron fronts it out like this life is actually the one he wants when the only reason he’s here is because of Cal and they both know it. 

“I’m not doing this again,” he says what he hopes is firmly. He can never tell when he’s speaking with her if he actually sounds as stern as he wants to. 

“Doing what?” 

“Letting you try and control my life like I’m some bloody damsel in distress. I make me own decisions, Meg. Not you, not Cal, not anybody.” 

That’s a lie. It’s a bald faced lie. Cal’s been running his life from the day he found him sleeping in a shop door, stick thin and frozen to the bone. But it still feels nice to say it here, now, on the cusp of meeting his first proper mobsters. Anything to cover the fact that she’s right; he’s bricking it.

“Fine. You think what you like, Aaron. But don’t blame me when you’re dead in a ditch.” 

“I don’t think I’ll be capable of blaming anyone if I’m dead,” he tries to joke, but the disgusted sound pulled from the back of Meg’s throat is more than enough to tell him she’s having none of it.

“Perfect time for a laugh, eh?” she asks, her voice angry but her eyes the exact kinda sad that makes Aaron ache all over. “Just… just do what you want to. You always do.” 

That’s not true either, not really. But Aaron doesn’t bother setting her straight as she walks out of their bedroom and disappears from his sight. 

In the end, he wears the not-black blue suit because in this at least, it’s his choice and his alone. 

~*~

Aaron will never get used to being inside Flash in the daylight. The only time he sees these walls is when he’s working security here or dropping off payments, both of which happen in the wee hours when the club is heaving. Half past four on a random Tuesday evening, though, things are dead. 

He takes a minute to center himself before he enters the back room, decked out for VIPs and used for whatever important meetings Cal needs to have. 

He’s not nervous. There is not a single part of Aaron that will admit to being nervous here. But maybe he is a bit… cautious. And he wants to make sure that he doesn’t walk in with that _caution_ painted across his face. 

Weakness is like blood in the water to these people. 

“Why are _you_ here?” a voice rings out sharply as soon as Aaron enters the back room. 

He lets a sneer spread across his lips, shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and tips his chin up to show how much he doesn’t care about Liam’s opinion. 

He and Liam the Great called each other brother once, but that was ages ago. Now, they’re _this_. 

“I were invited,” Aaron replies as cockily as he can manage. “You got a problem with that or summat?” 

Liam looks about a half a second away from either spitting at Aaron’s feet or decking him, neither of which Aaron wants if only because he doesn’t need the hassle. 

“Yeah, I got a problem with that. This meeting’s for MacFarlanes only. And last I checked, you weren’t one.” 

The words are meant to rattle him, make him want to lash out, start the fight so Liam can play the victim later. But what Liam doesn’t know is that Aaron’s got almost no interest in being a real MacFarlane - never has. So Liam can just take his taunt and stuff it. 

“Can’t say as I’m too disappointed about that, mate. At least I don’t got a permanent look of stupidity tattooed across my face. That congenital, is it?” 

Liam takes a swing at him because Liam _always_ takes a swing at him eventually. But you don’t box for ten years and not learn how to dodge a punch. Which is why Aaron is left unscathed and Sean perpetual-middle-child-and-built-like-a-brick-wall MacFarlane is able to grab Liam before he gets another pop in. 

“Back off, alright?” Sean says in his gentle giant tone that always sounds ridiculous coming from within the caveman beard he likes to sport. 

“He’s insulting you too, you idiot,” Liam says as he struggles in vain against the veins no doubt bulging out of Sean’s biceps beneath his wrinkled black suit. “You and Patrick. You just gonna let him get away with it?” 

“Get away with what?” Cal’s voice cuts in, freezing all three of them in place. 

Aaron keeps his mouth shut because with Liam, the best tactic is always to wait him out, let ‘im tighten the noose himself. 

“Dad,” Liam pleads, “Why is he even here? He’s not one of-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m barring you from the meeting,” Cal interrupts coldly. “He’s here because he’s family, end of discussion.” 

Shockingly, it is not, in fact, the end of the discussion. 

“Why?” Liam practically begs from across the room, finally free of Sean’s hold. “Because he’s marrying Meg?” 

Cal turns to him sharply, his eyes dark and fierce as he strides across the room so he can grip the lapels of Liam’s suit and shake him once for good measure. 

“No, because he’s just as much of a son to me as you are. And you’ll respect that if you know what’s good for you.” 

Aaron doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to Cal’s outbursts, so they don’t even faze him anymore, the same way Cal’s opinions on Aaron don’t faze Liam. 

Liam looks smug, to put it bluntly. A challenge in his eyes that Cal often ignores as he bites out a quick, “Whatever,” and smooths down his suit once Cal lets it go. 

Cal looks at Aaron then, offers him a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it half of a smile before clearing his throat and telling the boys what to expect from the meeting. 

Basically, they’re just here to stand back and look pretty, which they do with only moderate success thanks to Sean’s entire _everything_. Aaron’s not exactly one for high fashion, but Sean’s suit looks like it was pulled out of a bin. 

It’s predictable how the night goes, though, even if this is the first time any of ‘em are being introduced to Cal’s suppliers. 

Liam is too busy trying to look intimidating to pay much attention to the proceedings, his expression that of a pit bull waiting to attack. Sean looks like he’s just wondering why they invited him and when the food will be served. Patrick is on some other planet entirely. And Aaron? 

Well, Aaron’s memorizing every single word that’s being said, innit he?

~*~

The main problem with living in a house that’s more fortress than home is that if you want to sneak out in the middle of the night for a secret rendezvous, you have to put a lot of effort into it. And Aaron has never been a fan of effort. 

He’s gotten good at this, though. He knows where all the motion sensors are, where all the guards patrol. He knows which circuits to disengage and which cameras to avoid. He’s spent the better part of the last ten years figuring out how to get _out_ of this place so that by now, it’s second nature to him. 

He feels a little like he’s in some sorta spy film as he climbs out the second storey bathroom window. It’s the smallest window in the house, one Aaron practically has to break a hip to fit through nowadays, but it’s the only one within reach of a tree that he can climb down. A tree that just so happens to be in one of the few blindspots in the back garden. 

It takes him longer than it used to to reach the ground, his muscles aching from the exertion. And he almost dislocates his shoulder catching himself on a limb, the only thing stopping him from falling ten meters to the ground and having his head smashed in. 

He makes it safely, though, which just means all he has left is an open field full of motion sensors to avoid while simultaneously dodging the three guards that patrol the grounds at night. 

Simple as, right?

He moves from spy film to Indiana Jones as he navigates across the lawn, those years of practice forcing him to memorize where every single motion sensor is. And although tonight’s meeting is all about him banking on Cal being willing to change in other ways, in this way Aaron is relieved that everything has stayed the same. 

Liam tried to get him to reconfigure the sensors years ago, but Cal refused. Mostly because if it comes out of Liam’s mouth, the answer is an automatic no. 

He makes it out of the garden eventually, his undershirt sticking to his skin a little from sweat even though it’s freezing outside. He’s already late for the meet, though, so he doesn’t allow himself a break to catch his breath before he’s running to the warehouse across town where Emile is probably already waiting for him. 

This is their fourth time meeting, but it’s the first time Aaron’s actually got something good to tell him. So the adrenaline he feels from that is more than enough to fuel his cross-city run.

The warehouse is just as dank as it was the last three times he was here, the scent of the air bitter with mold and rot. It’s the perfect place to meet, though, because no one in their right mind would wanna venture into this dump unless they had summat dodgy to do.

“You’re late,” Emile points out needlessly once Aaron reaches the office in the back. 

“I’ve got a gift to make up for it,” Aaron replies, a giant smile splitting his face in two because today was a good day, and it’s just about to get better. 

He pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and hands it over to Emile, watching as he flinches slightly when Aaron goes for his pocket like he’s expecting a weapon, not a sheet of looseleaf. 

“What’s this?” Emile asks, opening up the folds reluctantly while keeping his eyes on Aaron, waiting for a response. 

“It’s the answer to all our problems,” Aaron says cryptically because he wants to have a little fun here. He figures he’s earned it. 

“Is this… is this what I think it is?” Emile asks shakily, a cautious smile starting to inch across his lips as well. 

“If you think it’s the full rundown of the Irish’s new offer to Cal, then yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.” 

Emile’s eyes bounce between the paper and Aaron’s face, looking for the trick that isn’t there because Aaron’s been working with Emile for weeks on how to convince Cal to ditch the Irish and buy from the French instead, and today’s meeting with the Irish gave Aaron all the ammunition he needs. 

“You get your boss to match this or, better yet, beat it, and I reckon I’ll be able to get Cal to bite,” he says, a little more confidently than he feels. 

“And you’re _sure_ Cal will consider shopping elsewhere?” Emile asks, needing the confirmation for the thousandth time. 

Even though Aaron is far from sure, he still nods, projecting a certainty he doesn’t feel as he says, simply, “Trust me. I’ve got this,” because he does. Or he will anyway. 

For tonight, that’s enough. 

He’s still smiling as he leaves, even though he’s bone tired, it’s started to rain, and he’s still gotta sneak back _in_ the house once he manages to get there. 

It was a good meeting, though, their most promising one yet. And Aaron is looking forward to the day where he can bring this deal to Cal, thank him for everything he’s done over the years, and maybe even use it as a way to… 

Well, a way to something else, he guesses. 

He’s almost home when he gets a text message. It’s coming through on his work phone, which isn’t rare at this late hour. What is rare is seeing a number he doesn’t recognize. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize why it feels so familiar, to realize that the order is an exact copy of the one he usually gets from the doctor that’s constantly trying to feel him up. The number is still vastly different, though, as is the meeting address, which usually isn’t a good sign. 

There’s protocol to follow for new high rollers, the first of which is to tell Cal about them. But Aaron is flying tonight, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, making him feel untouchable. And so instead of putting his phone back in his pocket like he’s supposed to, he texts back a simple message: 

_tmrw 3am_

Because if Aaron can broker a deal with the French flipping mafia, then he can handle a simple new client easy as. 

~*~

So that protocol Aaron was talking about? He throws it right out the window he uses to sneak out like a chavvy sixteen year old the very next night. Probably because he’s been having one of those _days_ , as Meg likes to call ‘em. The ones where Aaron doesn’t wanna listen to anyone but himself. 

Bare minimum, he’s supposed to bring Sean with him on all new client meetings, have backup if this new hitter turns out to be dangerous. But Aaron recognizes the address, has walked by the posh building more than enough times to know that the only thing shady about anyone staying there is their business morals. 

Long story short, he’s still high from the day before, which means the last thing he needs is a bloody babysitter. 

The voice through the buzzer is distinctly male, deep and rich in a way that makes Aaron’s fingers tingle. But despite the visceral reaction, Aaron is still on edge. Because the one thing missing from the voice is any hint of drowsiness, which, at three in the morning, is not exactly normal. 

He doesn’t ask who Aaron is either. He just says, “Come on up,” and buzzes him in. But given that he knew Aaron was coming, that part doesn’t really rattle him much. 

All in all, things seem to be going okay on his first solo venture. 

The first thing that enters his mind when the bloke opens his door is: Who meets a drug dealer while wearing a blazer? And one with elbow patches at that? 

The second thing that enters his mind is: Bloody hell, this bloke is _fit_ , blazer excluded of course. 

“Come on in,” the bloke says flipping cordially, stepping aside to let Aaron into his sweet flat. The one that Aaron starts casing immediately because he can’t actually help it. 

He’s never seen so much chrome in one place before, or outside of a garage anyway. 

“Pro tip for yas,” Aaron says as his eyes trace over paintings that look like they’re probably worth more than his car. “Most blokes choose neutral ground for their deliveries. Saves ‘em having to let nefarious drug dealers into their homes.” 

The bloke laughs, his green eyes sparkling with it as, for the first time since the door opened, Aaron takes a second to really _look_ at ‘im. 

His blond hair is perfectly styled, like it hasn’t hit a pillow or felt the wind all day. And he’s tall, or taller than Aaron at any rate, solidly built with freckles dusting his cheeks and neck and that’s what clinches it. 

_Flipping freckles_. 

“Are you going to rob me, is that what you’re saying?” the bloke says on a laugh. But Aaron is already past the joke, so all he does is grunt. 

“I know you,” he says coldly instead, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he imagines coppers in riot gear busting through the doors and windows any second. 

The idiot in front of him just seems to brighten. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, you were the bloke fondling himself in the good doctor’s hotel room last week.” 

The bloke laughs, something warm about it rushing through Aaron’s veins in a way that almost has him letting down his guard. 

_Almost_. 

“It’s not exactly what I wanted to be remembered for but hey, at least I made an impression,” Blondie says still so flaming brightly it almost hurts Aaron’s ears. “Fancy a beer?” 

“You what?” Aaron asks as he literally takes a full step away from the bloke like he’s just told him he’s got some deadly, contagious disease.

He puts his hands up, probably in some lame attempt to calm Aaron down. “I just thought we might have a drink first. I’ve never done the whole _drug deal_ thing before.”

He actually whispers the words _drug deal_ like there’s someone listening in he doesn’t want to hear. And Aaron still has no clue what’s going on here, but at least he’s pretty sure he’s not about to be arrested. 

No copper he’s ever met could fake this level of harmless. 

“How’d you get my number?” he asks next because fit bloke or not, there’s still something not right here. 

Blondie looks embarrassed by the question, one hand raised to rub the back of his neck and his head dipped down as he says, “Grayson,” like that’s an answer Aaron’s gonna accept. 

“No, see, he wouldn’t give you my number,” Aaron says, his voice low and intimidating as he practically prowls his way over to where the bloke is standing. 

“All of my clients know that if they give my number to anyone, they’re completely cut off. So I’m gonna ask you again.” Aaron stops in front of Blondie, leans down to catch his eyes and waits until green meets blue before he asks, “How’d you get my number?” 

There’s a tense moment between them, one Aaron can’t quite explain and one where the pair of ‘em just stare at each other, neither one of ‘em even so much as blinking before Blondie smiles something shy and fuckable and says, “So maybe I stole it from his phone while he was sleeping.” 

Aaron takes the answer and holds onto it for a few seconds, neither one of ‘em even straightening up as Aaron studies every line on the bloke’s face. 

“Why?” he asks eventually, his throat dry as a bone for some reason. 

Blondie shrugs, finally returning to a straight posture as he replies, “They were good drugs. Figured I might get some for myself.” 

Aaron just continues watching him, looking for any tell to what’s going on here. But there’s nothing but a kind of weird openness that Aaron can’t read, and so he’s already stuck when Blondie asks, “If you were suspicious, why did you come?” 

He doesn’t know. Or maybe he _does_ know. Maybe he just wanted to prove that he could. But now… now he’s wishing he’d stayed home. 

_No you’re not_ , a voice chimes in the back of his mind. The one that sounds like Meg every time she calls him on his BS. 

“Let’s just do this,” he says after clearing his throat, taking a few steps back again in order to give himself breathing room. 

Blondie’s flat is hot, like standing on the surface of the sun _hot_. And even in just a hoodie, Aaron is boiling. 

“So where are the drugs?” Blondie asks as he looks around his flat like maybe Aaron managed to hide them some place when he wasn’t looking. 

Aaron just scoffs. “You honestly think I was thick enough to bring that much gear to an anonymous first meet?” 

Blondie drags his eyes down Aaron’s body in a gesture that sets him even more on edge before trailing back up to Aaron’s face. “Um… no?” 

“First smart thing you’ve said all night,” Aaron shoots back, and he’s a half a second away from winking at the bloke before he realizes that he doesn’t _wink_. And he’s not about to start now. 

“My brother Patrick is good with finding things, so first thing’s first: What’s your name?” 

The bloke smiles again, the dangerous kind that says _I want to know what your skin tastes like_. Which is a ridiculous sentiment, one that can’t possibly be true but one that still _feels true_ as he says, “Robert Sugden,” like he’s giving out government secrets. 

Or asking Aaron to get in his bed. 

“Robert Sugden,” Aaron repeats if only because he wants to know what the words taste like. “Good. You mind taking a seat for me so we can do this?” 

Robert’s eyes get a little wider at that before he walks over to his ridiculous grey velour couch, sits in the corner, spreads his legs wide and says, “If you wanted to vet me, all you had to do was ask.”

Aaron feels like he’s going mad. 

“You need a pen or something?” Robert asks, which is a good thing given that Aaron’s brain clearly needed summat to trigger a full reset. 

“Eh?” 

Robert laughs, something he really needs to stop doing, before he says, “A pen? Paper? Something to write this all down?” 

Aaron sits on the arm of the couch opposite to where Robert is, a smirk working across his own face as he replies, “I’ve got a good memory,” because he does. And right now all he’s remembering is what Robert looked like in a pair of tight black boxer briefs. 

“So how does this work?” Robert asks as he adjusts himself for comfort, sliding down further in his seat in what would be a clear invitation if this were anything but a flaming drug deal. 

“I ask you questions. You answer questions. If everything you say checks out, we’ll set up another meeting and get you your precious gear. Work for you?” 

Robert nods, folding his hands right over his lap. Which is as good a sign as any to start up. 

“What do you do for a living?” 

“I’m in sales.” 

“What kind of sales?” 

“Farm machinery.” 

Aaron snorts. “That sounds dull.” 

Robert squints his eyes, but he doesn’t look offended. Just… annoyed.

“It’s not like I’m out in some dirt lot hawking used tractors to poor, down on their luck farmers.”

“So what do you do then?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m a manager. I oversee the big sales. Farming companies, that sort of thing. I spend my day wearing very expensive suits talking to very cutthroat businessmen and I’m damn good at my job.” 

Aaron puts his hands up this time in an attempt to placate even though getting Robert agitated is exactly what he wanted. 

The more wound up someone is, the more likely they are to slip up and tell the truth. 

“It must be pretty good pay to afford this place,” Aaron says with a pointed look around Robert’s ridiculous sitting room. 

He shrugs. “I make money.” 

“How many hours a week you work?” 

Robert’s eyes narrow again, this time in something akin to intrigue. “I’m on salary, so they can ride me however hard they want without paying me overtime.” 

“So in numbers, that’s…”

“Fifty a week,” he says flippantly. “Sixty at the out.” 

Aaron nods, but before he can think of another question, Robert cuts into his train of thought. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” 

“I’m sorry?” Aaron asks with a quirk of his head. 

“Your questions. You’re trying to get under my skin, aren’t you? I think you might need to work a little harder for that.” 

“Where were you born?” 

The question just slips out of Aaron’s mouth, brought out like a punch to the gut because if there were one question guaranteed to get Aaron rattled, that’d be it. 

Robert flinches at Aaron’s words, but the pride Aaron feels at the gesture only lasts a few seconds before he feels a strange sense of guilt. 

“Not here, then,” he continues in the hopes that talking more will make the guilt go away. “Let me guess: London?” 

The deer-in-the-headlights look drips from Robert’s expression as he laughs in a way that can only be fake. 

“Pretty much the exact opposite actually. I was born in a small village in Yorkshire,” he says, and that answer… well, it hits too close to home, doesn’t it? Which is why Aaron’s a little zoned out when Robert speaks again.

“What about you?” he asks. “I already know what you do for a living. What about for fun?” 

There’s a slight hitch to Robert’s voice, one that wouldn’t be out of place on Lower Briggate. And one that has Aaron locking down so fast it makes his chest tighten. 

“I don’t have fun,” he says flatly, discouraging any further questions. But Robert just laughs again, a response that should really be annoying but isn’t. 

“Is that because of work? How many hours a week do you have to work?” 

He doesn’t know what to do with the sincerity on Robert’s face. He’s not used to seeing that outside of Meg, and he’s _definitely_ not used to seeing that in a client. 

“All of them,” he says, pressing his nails into his palms in an attempt to ground himself with pain. 

“All of them? You work… all hours?” 

“Well it’s past three in the morning and I’m here listening to you drone on, so yeah, I’d say I work all the hours of the day.” 

“So you don’t have fun, you work every hour of the day, how do you manage to stay sane, Aaron?” 

The mention of his name makes Aaron sit up ramrod straight, his heart beating a million miles a minute in his chest as he narrows his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. 

“How did you know my name?” 

Robert tips his head like he’s confused by Aaron’s reaction before he says, “It’s what Grayson called you last week, back when I was fondling myself? Was I not supposed to know your name either? Because you look a little… jumpy.” 

“I’m not jumpy,” he replies, but even he can tell how much he sounds like a small child being told they can’t have any pudding after tea. 

“Aaron,” Robert tries again, leaning forward in his seat and actually making a move to reach out to Aaron like that’s a thing that can happen here. 

Aaron bolts out of his seat and starts backing out of the room immediately. 

“I think we’re done here,” he says, looking anywhere but at Robert. “If everything you said checks out I’ll be in touch.” 

Robert gets to his feet and tries to follow him, but when Aaron flinches at his movement, he stops dead. 

“I’ll be waiting on that text then,” he tries, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking at Aaron like he’s some sorta book he’d really love to read only it’s in a language he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t get what’s happening, what he’s feeling. If they were in a club, he’d get it. Aaron would take Robert to the bogs, drop to his knees. But this? This makes no sense.

Because this isn’t a club. This is Aaron’s _life_. And in his life, Aaron has been taught not to trust things that _don’t make sense_.

So he leaves without another word said, makes his way back out into the night and tries to forget everything that just happened in the last half hour. Only the harder he tries, the more the memory solidifies in his head so that by the time he rests his head on his pillow, Robert flaming Sugden is all he can think about. 

He wishes he could say the thoughts aren’t pleasant ones. 


	3. Yearnin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, but I needed to cut it off before the fun of the next chapter. Whee!

_Well that could’ve gone better,_ Robert thinks as soon as Aaron is out of his flat. He refuses to believe that it was his fault, though. 

Okay… maybe he should’ve avoided the blazer. But how was he supposed to know what kind of bloke a hopefully-gay drug dealer would be attracted to? 

Oh god, what if he’s not gay? Or bi? Or anything even remotely close to Robert’s end of the sexual spectrum? 

No. He can’t think like that now. That’s defeatist talk.

The point is, it was just a first attempt. And yeah, it crashed and burned in the end, but you can’t win unless you try. And Robert is all about putting in the effort if the payoff is worthwhile, which he knows it will be. One look at that scowl, at all that tightly coiled anger and he could just _tell_. 

He bets Aaron is a screamer, once you get him going. 

He’s never been with a drug dealer before. Truth be told, it was never even on his radar. He always thought dealers were large, intimidating blokes covered in scars. If he knew they came in Aaron’s model, though, he would’ve sought one out earlier. 

He wonders if he carries a knife. Or better yet, a _gun_. 

That thought really shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it is.

He can’t sleep that night. And partially that’s because he doesn’t even find his bed until almost four. Talk about disrupting one’s sleep rhythm. 

But more than anything, it’s Aaron that keeps him awake. The way he’d bent down to catch Robert’s eyes. The way they’d studied each other, so close they really might as well have kissed at that point. 

Robert lies awake for hours dreaming of what Aaron’s skin tastes like while getting himself off two lackluster times because he really can’t help himself in that regard. 

This is why he’s dead tired at work the next day, why Clive takes the mick every time he sees him, cooing about Robert and his “mystery bird.” 

Thanks to Chrissie spreading their business all over Leeds, Clive knows he’s bisexual. But Clive also only understands cocks when they’re seeking out women, so most of the time, he just treats Robert the same way he always did - as a pathological womanizer. 

It’s a long day, though, is what he’s trying to get at. An annoying one where checking his phone every three and a half minutes yields absolutely zero results worth looking for. And a day where he’s seriously considering going to bed at eight pm. 

Background checks take a while to do, right? 

Yeah. Background checks take a while to do. 

~*~

He’s at one of Leeds’ higher class bars the next night, soaking up gin like a fish with Clive because, and he quotes, _I’m not letting you sit around and mope about your ex-wife for one more minute, Sugden. Man up and get laid!_

Robert hadn’t corrected him on the ex-wife bit, although he’d had a laugh imagining Clive’s face if he told him his sulking was due to a dangerous, possibly-gun-wielding drug dealer he really wants to fuck on any and every solid surface he can find. 

Clive’s idea of “dangerous” is ordering a steak rare instead of medium, so taking a skinny dip in the seedy underbelly of the city is way beyond the pale for him. 

“What do you think of the talent?” Clive asks, not even having to lean across the table to be heard because in classy establishments, the music is quiet enough to hear yourself think. 

Robert is finding that a bit tedious at the moment, mostly because all he can think about is rubbing his face all over Aaron’s beard. 

As far as sexual fantasies go, it’s certainly not his best work. 

“Not bad, I suppose,” he replies, taking a cursory glance around the room to appease Clive if nothing else. 

Robert has gone out on the pull a lot in his life, even when he was married. But he knows himself, which means anyone he pulls tonight is going to pale in comparison to the fantasy living vividly in his head. 

Once Robert gets stuck on something, there’s just no unsticking him. 

“You sound like a tax solicitor!” Clive says with a good-natured shove to Robert’s arm. “There are at least a half dozen women in here tonight worth taking home, and you’re acting like someone ate all the pudding.” 

Robert stares at Clive for a minute, briefly wondering if maybe he should tell him his dilemma, open up or whatever they call it. But then he remembers who he’s talking about, and he smiles instead, tipping his head in the direction of two women sitting across the room. 

They’ve been eyeing Robert and Clive for the past hour at least, and on any other day, Robert would already have the redhead’s knickers on his bedroom floor. As it stands, he’s still just drinking over-priced gin with an absolute wanker that just so happens to be his best mate. 

What does that say about him? 

“Mmmm, good choice,” Clive purrs like the lecherous perv he is. “Which one do you want?” 

Robert shrugs. “I’m not fussed.” 

“I’ll take the redhead then.”

Robert glances back at the women again. At least the other one has dark hair. 

It falls to Robert to get the women over to their table, and it makes him wonder if there was ever a time where Clive was able to pull someone on his own or if Robert’s been helping him his whole life. It feels like they’ve known each other that long, even though Robert’s only been in Leeds for about twelve years and at the same company as Clive for seven. 

It’s been a long stretch, though, is what he’s getting at. And one that seems to have no end in sight as he walks to the bar to see what the women are drinking. 

A Negroni for the redhead and a Cosmopolitan for the brunette. How original. 

He bets Aaron drinks beer, maybe whiskey when he’s feeling all worked up, after the gym or something because there’s _no way_ that physique comes without work. His body covered in sweat, a vest-top clinging to his abs, his pecs. Strong arms holding Robert down, pinning him to the floor, having his way with-

“You alright, Sir?” 

Robert blinks. Then blinks again. Then blinks a third time for good measure. 

“Yeah. Sorry. On another planet,” he replies with a laugh as the bartender hands over the drinks. 

The bartender looks at him like he’s senile, but Robert doesn’t care. Mostly because in all ways but the physical, he’s still pinned to the floor of some grotty gym, getting his soul fucked out of him. 

Thank god for fantasies. 

In the end, it doesn’t take much to get the women to join them. Once he sets down the drinks, in fact, they’re practically falling all over him. And it’s nice to know he’s still got it even if what he’s got tonight isn’t what he wants by a long stretch. 

They talk about inane things, ones that Robert only marginally pays attention to. He can tell the redhead is disappointed, her brunette friend smug as the day is long due to the fact that she’ll be going home with Robert and not Clive. And normally that would give Robert a well-needed shot of adrenaline but it just… doesn’t. 

He doesn’t care. Not one little bit. 

He and Jennifer are back at his flat an hour or so later, but he doesn’t even get the chance to offer her a drink before she’s plastering herself to his body. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” she asks, hooking her leg up in an attempt to get Robert to pick her up. An attempt he doesn’t catch onto until both of her feet are back on the ground. 

Robert fakes a smile so as not to be rude and tips his head towards the back of his flat. 

Jennifer is lying on the bed in nothing but her bra and panties and Robert is working on getting his trousers undone when his phone buzzes inside the pocket of his suit jacket, currently discarded on the bedroom floor. 

It’s half twelve at night. Unless Clive got something caught in his zipper and he’s too embarrassed to go to A&E alone, there’s really only one person that could be texting him at this hour on a work night. 

He literally trips over his own feet in an effort to get to his phone as fast as his gangly limbs will allow, falling hard to his knees and reaching out like he’s trying to pull a drowning baby out of a riptide. If Robert were the type to pull drowning babies out of riptides. 

The message is just as short as the last one, only two words in fact: 

_2 hrs_

But Robert feels the impact of them in every bone of his body. 

“Is something wrong?” Jennifer asks, and Robert actually jumps at the sound of her voice because in the time between when his phone went off and now, he’d completely forgotten she even existed. 

“Yeah, I, um, family emergency,” he stutters. “My aunt’s had an accident.” 

Robert doesn’t have an aunt. What Robert _does_ have, though, is a fit as fuck drug dealer coming over to his flat in T-minus two hours and counting. 

Jennifer, unsurprisingly, is not a part of that particular equation. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to go to the hospital,” he says pityingly, using the same voice that always got his mother to cave to his whims. 

“Oh of course, you poor thing!” she exclaims as she gets down on her knees beside him and holds his face gently in her hands. “Would you like me to come with you?” 

“No!” he says, perhaps a bit too eagerly, judging by the way she flinches at his response. “I just mean, it could be a while. The accident sounds pretty bad, and I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

She nods, her eyes all big and wet and soppy as she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I hope your aunt is alright. And… well, call me sometime, when things calm down, yeah?” 

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he says with a few awkward nods. 

He doesn’t mean it. Of course he doesn’t mean it. But it’s enough to get her on her feet, to get her back into her clothes, and to eventually get her out of his flat. 

T-minus one hour and thirty-seven minutes. 

He’d put his suit back on whilst Jennifer got dressed, mostly because he had to make her think he was leaving as well. But now that he’s got a moment to think, he reckons that another suit will only garner the same result as the ill-fated blazer. 

He puts on his best pair of jeans instead, the ones that make his arse look like it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself, paired with a plain white button up - no elbow patches this time - and his favourite black leather jacket. The jacket is the element most debated, though. On the one hand, he’s _inside_ , does he really need a jacket? But on the other hand…

Well, on the other hand Robert looks well fit in it. 

He spends the next hour cleaning up his already clean flat, tidying up the little messes that accumulate throughout the week, placing his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. And then, he waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

The buzzer goes at almost exactly two hours past Aaron’s text, and Robert would be impressed by his punctuality if he weren’t about to throw up in his mouth from nerves. 

He goes to hit the buzzer to let Aaron in but freezes with his hand dangling in the air, unsure of what to say. Unsure if he should say anything _at all_. Last time he told him to come up, but maybe that’s overly friendly. Maybe he should say nothing at all. Maybe he should-

_Buzzzzzzzzz._

It sounds angrier the second time, even though that’s not possible given that it’s an inanimate object. And Robert goes with silence in the end as he buzzes Aaron in and tries to survive the interminable minute and a half it will likely take him to get to Robert’s door. 

He waits for Aaron to knock even though every bone in his body is screaming to meet him in the bloody hallway, tackle him in the lift perhaps. But when he finally does knock, Robert is thrown off by how aggressive the knock _isn’t._ It’s peaceful almost, not quiet but not loud either, and daresay Robert finds it a little charming as he stares at the door, bemused. 

“I’m not leaving this on your doorstep, if that’s what you’re waitin’ for,” Aaron’s voice cuts through his thoughts, just as mardy as he remembers. And Robert…

Robert isn’t going to sleep until he has him, is he? 

He’s just as sexy as he is in Robert’s fantasies, moreso even because he’s _real._ Wearing mostly the same getup as before only this time his black hoodie has a gray design draped over the shoulders and his jeans look a little less circulation-cutting tight.

His arms are still amazing. That’s what Robert is stuck on. And he almost reaches out to touch them when a funny thought occurs to him. 

Aaron really should be wearing a jacket. It’s freezing outside, mid-January _freezing_. And all he’s walking about in is a bloody hoodie. 

“So I came back clean, did I?” Robert asks in order to stop himself from doing any number of embarrassing things, from molesting to mithering, as he opens the door as wide as it goes, standing to the side to indicate that he would like to do their business behind closed doors when for all he knows Aaron just wants to chuck the drugs at him and run. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aaron replies blandly as he takes in Robert’s appearance, dragging his eyes down then up in a way that sets Robert’s skin alight.

“You going somewhere?” he asks when he’s done eye fucking Robert. 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron nods at him, raising his eyebrows before saying, “The jacket. Are you going somewhere?” 

He knew he shouldn’t have worn the jacket. 

“No,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall leading into the kitchen. “I just got home from the off license. I got some top shelf whiskey, if you want to crack it open with me.” 

What the hell is he talking about? He doesn’t have any whiskey in his flat, top shelf or not. He drank it all trying to get himself to sleep the last time he was with Aaron. 

Thankfully, Aaron just says a quick, “No, ta, let’s just get this done.” Because while it feels rotten to get shot down again, at least he didn’t have to explain the pathetic lie. 

“No blazer tonight?” Aaron asks as he strolls past Robert into his flat, his eyes drifting over the walls in a way that should probably scream _there’s a criminal in my house trying to suss out what to steal_. 

The only thought that’s filling his head, though, is _I hope Aaron approves of my decorating style_ , which really should prove how lost Robert is in this little quest of his. 

Why can’t he just fuck him and be done with it? 

_Because you wouldn’t be interested if it were that easy_ , the little voice that always sounds like his dad reminds him. And he’s got a point there, he supposes, but still. _Naked_. Robert just wants to be naked right now. 

“Blazers are only for first meetings,” he says with as much confidence as he can muster, which is a surprising amount given the way his body feels like it’s liquefying. 

Aaron pivots, his eyes drawn straight to Robert’s crotch before they crawl slowly up his body, one eyebrow just slightly raised when he asks, “I thought boxers were for first meetings.” 

_I thought naked was for third_ , he thinks as he internally shakes off the way Aaron’s eyes feel like honey, dripping down his skin. 

“That’s only for special occasions,” he says with a smirk, and normally, a comment like that would get him a favorable result. 

Aaron just bites his lip, though, nods like he’s absorbing the information before flushing it away as he pulls a bag of pills out of his pocket and drops it unceremoniously on Robert’s coffee table. 

The pills. He’d forgotten all about them. 

“It’s five hundred pounds even,” Aaron says, the bland tone of voice back in full effect as he shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and waits for Robert to get him his money. 

He doesn’t want to, though. Because as soon as he hands over the cash, their little meeting is over, and there’s no reason for Aaron to stay. And if Robert hasn’t made this clear yet, he really, _really_ wants Aaron to stay. 

“Do you take credit?” Robert asks. 

Aaron just stares at him, not even intimidatingly just… _bored_. 

So Robert feels the need to point out, “It was a joke.” 

“Oh, I know it were a joke,” Aaron replies with the same blase attitude that for some reason makes Robert itch in all the good ways. “It just weren’t funny, mate.” 

“So we’re mates now, then,” Robert says, refusing to turn it into a question as he tries to shove down the smile that wants to burst from his stupid flaming face. 

Aaron rolls his eyes, and Robert has never found that gesture sexy until this very moment. 

“It were a figure of speech. And you were meant to focus on the other part. You know, the part where I said you weren’t funny?” 

“You’ve known me for a grand total of six minutes. Give it a little time. My humour just takes a while to settle in.” 

“We’re giving this time, are we?” Aaron asks as he pulls both lips inside his mouth and raises his eyebrows in a clear challenge. 

Robert pushes himself off the wall and walks over to where Aaron has been standing almost since he entered Robert’s flat. His steps slow, methodical, his eyes locked on Aaron’s as he says slowly, “Well, you are the only drug dealer I know. And I’m nothing if not loyal.” 

Aaron snorts out a laugh. “I’ve seen your file, mate. I’m not sure loyal is the word I’d use.” 

The words cut him, deeper than they should, coming from a near complete stranger as they are. But something about his facade must slip because instead of being filled with sarkiness, Aaron’s eyes suddenly flood with concern. 

“I didn’t mean,” he tries to explain, but Robert just cuts him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Five hundred pounds, you said?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron replies quietly while Robert moves to find his wallet because yes, he is the type of person that carries that much cash on him, thank you very much. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I said anything that offended you,” Aaron tries as Robert hands the money over. 

Robert just smiles, though, the smug one he uses after every successful business meeting. His teeth bit down tight before he says, “No offense taken,” because there wasn’t, was there? 

Aaron is no one to him, so why should Robert care what he thinks? And the sooner he manages to get him into bed, the sooner he can put this whole ordeal behind him. 

Simple as, right? 

Simple as.


	4. Just a Little Heat

Aaron’s knuckles echo on the metal door, three sharp raps before Cal’s voice floats out to him, telling him to come in.

He doesn’t wanna do this. It’s taken him over a week just to get the bottle to _do this_ , and now that he’s here, all he wants to do is run a mile. 

Emile is working from his side, though. He’s gone back to France, has been talking with his bosses for days now, trying to hammer out a deal. Which means that Aaron is the one not holding up his end of the stick. 

He can’t broker a deal with the French if he doesn’t at least ask Cal if he’d be interested, can he?

“What can I do for you, lad?” Cal asks as Aaron takes ten measured steps across the office, his hands stuffed in his pockets like usual, the corner of his lip bit between his teeth. 

Once he reaches the pair of chairs in front of the desk, Aaron shrugs and takes a seat. 

“Nothin’ really,” he lies. “Just wanted to see how business was goin’.”

Cal smiles at him, something almost teasing in the expression before he responds. “You’re my boots on the ground, Aaron. Don’t you think you know as well as me how things are going?” 

Aaron leans back in the chair, folds his hands in his lap, tips his head into fine leather and rolls his eyes like a teenager. 

“I bring overpriced prescription pills to jumped up businessmen and tacky housewives. Not exactly the inner workings of the operation.” 

The last bit is so close to the truth of why he’s here that it feels like his heart lodges in his throat with the words. 

“Oh, and you want to know the inner workings now,” Cal hums, leaning back as well, running his fingers through his short, blond hair before linking his hands behind his head. “Since when?” 

“Since I’m gonna be marrying Meg in a coupla months, and I’m… well, I’m a part of this now, aren’t I? A _real_ part of this?” 

He tries to sound confident, the way Liam would, but there’s a sense of vulnerability in his words, and there’s no way Cal doesn’t pick up on it. 

“Did someone say something to you?” Cal asks in the same tone he’s used ever since Aaron was a scared sixteen year old kid, waking up screaming every night from the horror show inside his head. 

“What? No. No one said anything. I just-”

“You want to feel like you belong,” Cal finishes for him. And okay, maybe that’s not the actual reason Aaron is here today, but it’s still a valid point. 

It’s all Aaron’s ever wanted, really. 

“I want to feel like I’m _contributing_ ,” he corrects. “And if that meeting with the Irish the other week is any indication, you want that, too.” 

He almost can’t get the words out of his mouth, like his gag reflex is working in reverse. But once they’re out, Aaron feels a little lighter. 

Cal studies him for a good, solid minute before he asks, “So what did you want to know, exactly?” 

Aaron plays it cool, a hopefully perfect counterpoint to Cal’s cautiousness as he pretends to think about it again, shrugs, and says, “Why the Irish?” 

“Why the Irish what?” 

“I don’t know. Why work with them? I mean, there’s got to be other suppliers out there. What’s so special about them?” 

His heart is pounding in his chest, the sound flooding his ears. And Aaron isn’t generally the praying sort, but he prays now that Cal can’t hear his erratic heartbeat from across the desk. 

This is daft. This whole thing is completely _daft_. 

“Declan O’Reilly saved my life once,” Cal says, his face impassive, his voice cold as a stone in winter. “And to repay him, I murdered the man who stole his wife.” 

Aaron… was not expecting that. Which is why his voice is slightly higher pitched than normal when he sits forward and asks, “Really?” 

Cal holds his pose for a few excruciatingly long seconds before laughter bursts out of him. “No, not really, Aaron. My grandfather made the first deal with the Irish decades ago and me and my father have just followed suit. It seemed… I don’t know, easier that way.”

Aaron breathes a hopefully unnoticeable sigh of relief as he realizes that the deal is simply built on a flimsy tradition, nothing more. His voice a little looser when he asks, “So you never thought of changing?” 

Cal studies him again, peels Aaron’s skin off layer by layer before saying, simply, “No, I haven’t. I’ve just never had a better deal.” 

He’s never had a better deal. Aaron can work with that.

“How about you, then? How’s it going on the streets?” Cal asks, shaking Aaron out of thoughts of France. 

He shrugs. “S’okay.” 

Cal leans forward onto his desk, forearms flat and hands clasped. “No one I should worry about then?” 

Aaron swallows hard, the words, _You mean like the rich, fit, farm equipment salesman that may or may not be an undercover copper,_ skittering through his head. 

“Nope. No one at all.” 

Cal’s eyes rove over Aaron’s face before pinning him in his seat. “You’ve got to be careful of new clients. You remember that, yeah?” 

Aaron snorts, mostly to cover up the heat climbing up the back of his neck. “Of course I remember that. I’ve been doing this for going on a decade, Cal. Give me a little credit.” 

Cal smiles, his expression softening, giving Aaron the look he remembers seeing almost every day in the months after he started living with the MacFarlanes. 

The one that looks almost like a father. 

“Of course you know. I just worry about you out there, that’s all. If there’s ever anyone that twigs, you get Sean out there with you. Or, better yet, you come to me, alright?” 

Aaron nods. “Yeah. Course.” 

Cal gives him one last long look, opening up the floor for an honesty Aaron isn’t ready to give yet, before saying, “Well, son, if that’s all?” 

Aaron takes that as his cue to leave, but unlike when he came in he’s got a bit of a smile on his face and a bit of hope in his chest. 

This may work after all. 

~*~

He’s at the gym later, working a heavy bag, his headphones stuck in his ears drowning out the world and sweat dripping down his body in rivulets when suddenly the bag stops giving. 

Once his eyes regain focus, he sees that it’s Sean standing in front of him, holding the bag close to his chest. A mischievous smile overtaking his face as he asks, “Wanna spar?”

Sean is bigger than Aaron. Sean is also quite a bit stronger than Aaron. But Aaron is faster, smarter, a better fighter all around and so when Sean asks him to spar, Aaron usually answers _yes_. 

Bare minimum it’s a good chance to work on his guard. The last thing he wants is to get hit with one of Sean’s granite fists. 

Today is different to most days, though, because for some reason, Sean is feeling chatty. Chatty about his girlfriend, chatty about the new puppy they got that he disgustingly calls his kid, chatty about the bloke he had to beat up the night before for missing another payment to Cal, the blisters still bleeding across his knuckles where they’re tucked into his boxing gloves. 

Chatty, chatty, chatty, _chatty_ when all Aaron wants to do is punch someone, let off a bit of steam. 

“You coming with us tonight?” Sean asks a while into the fight, just as Aaron is starting to flag a little. 

Sean has only landed a few solid body shots on him, nothing on the face, while Aaron has been at Sean like a battering ram to almost zero effect. A process that’s been more exhausting to Aaron than to the one getting punched. 

“With who where?” he huffs out as he dodges another left hook. 

“Me and Liam. We’re hitting the town. Proper lads night. You in?” 

Aaron snorts, absorbs a fist to the gut, and says a, “No, ta,” that’s more moan than anything. 

Sean stops moving at that, just stops dead in the middle of the ring, flopping his hands to his sides like a puppet who’s just got his strings cut. 

“Why not?” 

“Em, I’ve got plans.” 

It’s supposed to be a statement, but it’s really more question than anything. 

Sean crosses his arms over his bare chest. “With who?” 

Aaron thinks, for a blinding second, what it would be like to be able to tell the truth here. To say, “I’m going to Lower Briggate to see if I can find a bloke to fuck in some grotty back alley because it’s been a coupla months since I’ve had sex and it’s actually starting to get a little painful.” 

As it stands, he just blinks at Sean like an idiot. 

“See, ‘cause I know yous not working,” Sean says lowly as he takes a few slow steps closer to Aaron. “And Meg is in Manchester on business. Which either means you’ve got mates I don’t know about, or-”

“I’m not cheatin’ on Meg,” he bites out before Sean can get there in the hopes that his anger-ridden defense will make Sean back down. 

“You better not be,” he says even more menacingly, his head dipped down to catch Aaron’s eyes. “Because if you are, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

They stand there for a few long, tense seconds before Sean smiles, says, “Game on!” and punches Aaron so hard in the face he sees stars. 

So much for Lower Briggate. 

~*~

Sean’s warning, coupled with Cal’s meeting, has Aaron doubling down at work, which should’ve been his focus all along. He’s been taking extra shifts, working longer than usual, which means he’s bloody exhausted all the time. But at least he’s not thinking about other things.

He still hasn’t found any release a week and a half after his little boxing match. Meg had laughed when he’d told her about what Sean had said, but he’d eventually gotten her to see how serious it is. 

If someone catches her with Greg, there’s really no problem. None of her brothers will care if she cheats on Aaron. Hell, Liam will probably cheer her along. But if they catch _him_ with someone else? If they catch him with _another bloke_? He’ll be dead before he even knows what’s hit him.

Basically, there’s just no way for him to win. 

It’s what he’s thinking about as he waits for the lift to take him to Robert’s floor - the fact that he’s starting to forget the last time he shagged anyone, that’s how long it’s been. His mind split between that and the ever-growing suspicion he feels every time he comes face to face with his newest customer. 

He’s ordered three party packs in three weeks. If he’s not sharing it, there’s no way one person could be taking that much. He’d be dead in the ground by now. 

He wishes it wasn’t his business what Robert does with his drugs, but if he’s reselling them or, worse still, if he’s somehow working for the cops, it is _exactly_ Aaron’s job to know. 

Why can’t his life ever just be easy?

Aaron’s knuckles echo on the wooden door, three sharp raps before Robert is there, welcoming him. 

He looks good tonight. He always looks good. Which is another thing that makes Aaron suspicious because usually when he drops off drugs in the middle of the night, he’s lucky if his customers are fully _awake_ , much less fully dressed. 

Robert almost looks dressed _up_ , though, even tonight in just a pair of trackies and a plain white t-shirt, his feet bare against the hardwood floor that flows through his flat, his hair still styled perfectly in a way that makes Aaron want to run his fingers through it, mess it up. 

He shakes his head, hoping to dislodge thoughts like that from his mind. 

“What’s happened to your face?” Robert asks as soon as Aaron is properly backlit by the lights in the hall. His hand rising like he actually wants to touch the bruises on Aaron’s face that’ve gone gray and yellow in the time since the fight. 

Aaron bats his hand away. “Nothin’ happened. I was boxing. Didn’t dodge when I should’ve.” 

Robert studies the bruises for another few seconds, his eyebrows pinched together as he traces the mottled shapes with his eyes, before a small smile quirks up one side of his face. 

“You box?” he asks. 

Aaron looks at Robert with the best dead-eyed expression he owns as he walks past him into the flat, the door closing behind them. “Just said that, didn’t I?” 

“I guess that explains a few things,” Robert says cryptically.

It’s his tone of voice more than anything that does it, overly familiar, deep and secretive. And all that Aaron can think right now is, _if there’s ever anyone that twigs…_

“What does it explain?” he asks as he rounds on Robert, his voice rough, his eyes beady as he stares at where Robert is standing, stunned. 

“You what?” 

Aaron takes a few steps closer, his arms loose at his sides, ready for anything that might be thrown at him as he _pushes_ because he’s sick of this. The innuendos. The back and forth. He’s _sick of it._

“You said that explains a few things. Like what? What does it explain?”

Robert has the gall to look embarrassed for a fleeting second, his cheeks pinkening before he says a flippant, “Nothing.” 

“Nothing,” Aaron echoes. “Right, nothing. Well since I’m asking questions…”

_Here goes_ , he thinks. _Here fucking goes._

“Who takes these drugs?” he asks, pulling the newest bag out of his hoodie pocket and chucking it at Robert’s chest. 

He doesn’t catch it, just lets it bounce off of him and fall to the floor. Which is not how a junkie at any level treats their stash. 

“I do,” Robert insists once he’s remembered how to speak. 

“No, you don’t,” Aaron counters cooly, his skin vibrating but his limbs, his fingers, everything about his body stilled with anticipation. 

Robert laughs, a sharp bark of it before he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Of course I do.”

Aaron sneers at him. “I know people on drugs, Robert, and you’re not it.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I look forward to this all week. The time I have to spend without the pills is excruciating.”

Well that says it all, doesn’t it? Robert really should’ve done his research. 

“There’s a reason they call it a party pack. If you took all of those in a week, you’d be dead five times over,” he bites out as he moves another few steps closer to Robert like he’s stalking prey. “So the way I see it, we’ve got two options here: You’re either reselling them, which is stupid, or you’re a cop, which is suicidal.” 

Robert tries to laugh again but Aaron can see the fissures now, the cracks in the facade that show how much Aaron is getting to him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Aaron. They’re my drugs. I might share them a bit with my mates from work, but I take them. Maybe I just have a higher tolerance than your average junkie.” 

He wants to laugh, mock Robert for his pathetic cover story. But his blood is pumping now, his head dizzy with it as he moves even closer to where Robert is still standing like a deer in flaming headlights. 

“Fine,” Aaron says as he bends over to pick up the bag, opening it and grabbing the first pill he finds. “If you love taking drugs so much, take this.” 

He hands the pill to Robert at that, waiting for him to take it only he never does. 

Apparently, the ruse only goes so far. 

“I knew it,” Aaron hisses as he throws the bag clear across the room, the pills skittering over the wood like candy. 

“Look, Aaron, I can explain,” Robert tries, but before he can get any further, Aaron is pinning him to the door with his left forearm pressed into Robert’s chest.

“Who are you?” he hisses, pressing in harder as he does. “Who do you work for? Coppers? The French?” He gets on his toes to gain even more leverage. “ _Who. Are. You_?” 

“You know who I am,” Robert says quietly, his pupils blown wide as he squirms beneath Aaron’s grip. 

“I don’t know _anything_ ,” he admits, which is the truest thing Aaron has said all night. From the moment he met Robert flaming Sugden, he’s known _nothing_. 

“You wearing a wire?” he asks after an intense few seconds where the two of them just stare at one another. 

Robert juts his chin out. “Since you’re not going to believe me anyway, why don’t you check.” 

Aaron does exactly that, pinning Robert now with one palm flat to his shoulder as his other hand skates up under Robert’s t-shirt, feeling around his chest for a wire that isn’t there. 

He gets the same result on Robert’s back, smooth skin and hard muscles riding under his palm as he covers every square inch of the expanse, just in case. 

“Is that the best you got?” Robert asks in this voice… fuck in this _voice_ that does things to Aaron, makes him feel things that are entirely inappropriate here, now. But Aaron’s body is on autopilot, Aaron’s skin on fire, Aaron’s muscles like lava, flowing over his bones, and apparently there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. 

He drops to his knees, runs his hands up the sides of each of Robert’s legs, the fabric of his trackies soft under his touch. But at some point in the process, he realizes he’s no longer looking for a wire. No, what he’s looking for is something else entirely, something he finds as he brushes the back of his hand over Robert’s crotch. 

The moan that escapes Robert’s mouth is unholy as everything clicks into place. All the weird behaviour, all the stupid things he’s said, it’s not because he’s trying to catch Aaron out. 

He’s not a dealer, not a copper, not a spy, he just _wants him_. And like a bolt of lightning, Aaron realizes that he wants him back. Or he wants this, anyway. Wants _someone_ , something different for a change, a step up from no prep and a back alley. 

He rests his hands on Robert’s thighs, looks up into Robert’s eyes and it’s all there, innit? Desire. The kind you can’t fake. The kind that reaches down your throat, grabs your lungs, and _squeezes_. It’s all there on Robert’s face, plain as day. And Aaron…

Well, that’s enough for him, innit? 

Robert reaches down for his face, traces his fingers gently over Aaron’s bruises before running his thumb along Aaron’s bottom lip. His hand sliding eventually into Aaron’s hair, palming the back of his head. But Aaron doesn’t need any encouragement for what he does next. 

For the way he leans forward and mouths at the hard line of Robert’s cock through his clothes. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Robert bites out, his hips pressing forward as Aaron continues to suck him through too many layers. But before he can pull Robert’s trackies down and do this proper, Robert is gripping his shoulders and dragging him back to his feet. 

“Jesus, get up here,” he mumbles before crashing his lips into Aaron’s with bruising force. And Aaron doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before Robert’s mouth is stealing it from him, his tongue unrelenting as it presses past Aaron’s lips and drags along the backs of his teeth. 

Aaron’s not sure he’s ever felt this wanted before. He’s had sex plenty of times in his life, but it was always so quick, nameless, sometimes practically even faceless. Get in, get off, get out, that was always his motto. But even just kissing Robert feels like something else entirely. 

“Fuck, I want to fuck you,” Robert breathes into his neck once he breaks the kiss, his lips searing Aaron’s skin. “Can I fuck you? Please let me fuck you.” 

“Jesus,” Aaron moans as Robert begins sucking on his earlobe. “Stop talking about it and just do it already.” 

Robert stops what he’s doing abruptly, pulls back so he can smile at Aaron, all cat that got the cream, before pressing a hard, closed-mouth kiss to his lips and dragging him back to his bedroom. Literally. He doesn’t let Aaron’s hand go until they’re safely tucked inside. 

They begin to undress as quickly as they can, trousers and pants first for some reason, but when Robert goes to remove Aaron’s t-shirt, Aaron freezes. 

He knows what’s under there. Most times he has sex, he stays almost fully clothed, which means no one’s seen his scars in years. Not since Jackson. And Aaron will be damned if he shows them off now. 

So he takes his own shirt off as he spins towards the bed, blocking Robert’s view before getting on all fours and waiting for the real show to begin. And the way Robert says Aaron’s name like it’s some sort of prayer, his gaze so strong Aaron can feel it along his back, his legs, his arse, has Aaron wondering just how long he’s gonna be able to last.

It’s been too long since someone’s touched him, longer since someone’s fucked him, and even longer since someone’s bothered to kiss him. Which is why he thinks he’s ready for whatever Robert has to offer. Only the second Robert presses his lips to his arse cheek, all of that goes flying out the window. 

He kisses them both, then his lower back, then the area just above his arse. And Aaron really should be able to see where this is going, but his whole body still jerks when Robert spreads his arse cheeks and presses a hard kiss to Aaron’s arsehole. 

“Easy,” Robert soothes, pressing one hand flat against Aaron’s spine. “I just want a little taste, that’s all.” 

Holy fuck, Robert really needs to stop saying things like that right now. 

He does. He stops talking, but only so that he can lick at Aaron’s arsehole, nibbling at the sensitive skin around it before diving his tongue inside. And Aaron’s arms are shaking so bad already he’s about to faceplant into the bed. 

“Just get… get on with it,” he says on a moan that betrays just how much he’s actually enjoying this. A fact that makes Robert laugh, the prat. 

Robert leans up over Aaron’s back so he can whisper, “Someone needs to learn patience,” in his ear before he leans back again, slaps his arse hard and moves toward the side table to grab the lube and condoms conveniently left out. 

“Get a lot of action do ya?” Aaron asks breathlessly as he allows his eyes to trail down Robert’s naked body, his gaze snagging over the impressive hardon that Aaron can’t wait to have inside of him. 

“These?” Robert asks as he holds the condom and lube aloft. “I’ve made sure to have these out and ready ever since the night I met you, just in case.” 

He doesn’t believe him. Not really. But there’s a part of Aaron that flashes red at the thought that Robert has been waiting weeks just to have him. 

No one outside of Jackson has ever given him that much thought, even if the thought here is just as simple as _I wanna shag you_. 

“So are we doing this, or…”

Robert smiles. He always has a smile waiting in the wings. But this one has a little of the devil in it as he reaches down to grab Aaron’s face so he can turn it, kiss him, dig into the depths of Aaron’s mouth, let Aaron taste himself on Robert’s tongue before letting him go. 

Every time Robert kisses him, he feels bloody dizzy. 

It doesn’t take long for Robert to prep him, thankfully. It seems as if his teasing flew out the window the second he realized how close he was to being inside of Aaron. Which means that it’s only a few minutes before Robert is forcing his way onto the bed behind Aaron. 

He doesn’t press inside of him, not yet anyway. Instead, he reaches around Aaron’s chest and yanks him up so that he’s on his knees, practically sitting in Robert’s lap. And _then_ … well, then Aaron’s world goes supernova. 

Robert fucks up into him at a ruthless pace, one hand bracing Aaron’s chest to hold him up while the other grips into Aaron’s hip so tightly there will be bruises tomorrow. And the only thing Aaron can do, pinned to Robert’s chest as he is, is go with it, ride this out, let Robert take him wherever he wants and be grateful for every step of the way. 

When Robert hits his prostate, a deep moan escapes Aaron’s mouth. And he’d be embarrassed about the sound if Robert weren’t moaning and grunting away behind him. 

“There… please… _there_ ,” Aaron manages to stutter out, not even caring how desperate he sounds because all he wants in the world is for Robert to keep doing what he’s doing. 

“Shhh, I got you,” Robert hums into his ear, taking his hand off Aaron’s hip so he can circle his cock, stroke in time to his thrusts. And Aaron just gets lost in it all, the sensations overwhelming him as heat begins to pool in his stomach and his vision begins to go white. 

When Robert bites the crook of his neck hard, Aaron comes even harder. A strangled cry choked in this throat as he clenches around Robert and takes him over the edge with him. And Aaron doesn’t lose consciousness when he comes, but it’s a very near thing. 

He hasn’t been fucked that good in _ages_. 

They both collapse forward when they’re done, Robert’s weight heavy on his back as he tries to remember how to breathe. But as the euphoria starts to fade, reality comes crashing back with a vengeance. 

What the hell has he done? 

Aaron tries to push Robert off of him, but all he gets in reply is a mumbled, “Too tired… stop… pushin’.” 

“Robert, _get off_ ,” he snaps, using the leverage of the bed to roll Robert off of him. 

He wipes himself off using Robert’s sheet, then grabs for his t-shirt, still lying on the bed, because if he wasn’t gonna let Robert see his scars before sex, he’s certainly not gonna let him see them after. 

“What are you doing?” Robert asks lethargically as he rolls onto his back and links his fingers behind his head, his naked body on full display. 

“What does it look like I’m doin’?” Aaron asks as he steps into his boxers. 

Robert leans up onto his elbows to get a better view of him. “We could go again if you want. Give me five minutes and I’ll be good to go.” 

Aaron is tempted. Fuck if Aaron isn’t _tempted_. But that temptation is the exact reason why he lies and says, “I’ve got a bunch more dropoffs to get to before the night is over.” 

“Aaron,” Robert tries to say, but Aaron just puts a hand up to stop him.

“I have to go, Robert. And you can’t… you can’t tell anyone about this.” 

Robert quirks an eyebrow at him and smiles. “I’m not generally in the habit of spreading my business about town.” 

Aaron stops what he’s doing for a second so he can look Robert right in the eye. “I’m serious Robert, no one can know.” 

Robert stares at him for a few seconds before something in his expression sobers. “Alright. No one knows.” 

“And you have to stop ordering the drugs,” Aaron adds because this was a mistake, a huge one that he won’t let either of them make again. 

Robert sits up straight at that. “Why?” 

“Because Cal isn’t stupid. You keep buying drugs and flushing them down the toilet or whatever and he’s gonna know something is suss.” 

Robert nods, but his eyes say that he’s not quite buying what Aaron is selling. 

“Then how will I see you again?” 

Aaron looks at him, refusing to let his eyes slide below Robert’s chin as he says, “You won’t.” 

“ _Aaron-_ ”

“No, Robert. This was… it was fun, sure, but I can’t do this again. It has to end here. Now.” 

“But-”

“No!” Aaron snaps. “Just… no.” And with that, he’s zipping up his hoodie and leaving the room. Leaving _Robert_. His heart still beating wildly as he reminds himself that this was a mistake with every step he takes away from Robert’s bedroom. From Robert’s _body_. 

From Robert. 

This was all just one big mistake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there has been confusion in the comments, up until this point, all of Aaron’s sexual activities have been self-harm related, for what it’s worth.


	5. Till I Get My Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter again. I was going to have both POVs in this one but I felt like they'd be better suited as separate chapters. Hope this one is still enjoyable!

It takes Robert six days to get up the bottle to order again despite Aaron’s very clear command not to. And he’s not going to say those days are excruciating but… well… they’re a fair bit excruciating if you want to look at them closely. Which Robert doesn’t because Robert doesn’t pine and he’s just bored, is all. He’s bored and so he sends off a text and waits. 

There’s a longer than usual stretch between when he sends the message and when he gets the reply. And he refuses to say _that_ rattles him as well, but there must be something wrong with him because this is just completely out of order. 

Robert doesn’t pine. He said that already, didn’t he? Robert doesn’t even double dip much these days, not when he has the freedom to shag whomever, wherever, whenever he wants. 

But there’s just something about Aaron that makes him _want_ with a kind of ferocity he’s never really known before, a fact not helped by how absolutely incredible he was in bed the other night. And so the twenty-four hours it takes for Aaron to respond is _excruciating_. 

Shagging him was supposed to put the fire out, not throw petrol on it.

As he’s waiting for the dropoff to happen the following evening, definitely _not_ staring at the buzzer on his wall and waiting for it to go off, he spends some time analyzing just why exactly he’s feeling this way. Eventually, he boils it down to one simple fact: He hates being told no. 

As a salesman who could literally sell sand sarnies to people living in the desert, it’s a rare thing for someone to tell Robert no these days. Which just means that Aaron needs a little more persuading, right? A few properly placed words, a few improperly placed touches, and he’ll be back onside. Then Robert can get him out of his system and the world will make sense again. 

It’s an easy plan, really. But it’s one that’s completely scuttled when he opens the door and sees a large, cinderblock of a man staring back at him. 

“You called for a party pack?” the bloke asks as he looks over Robert’s shoulder at the flat behind him. 

“Yeah, but… where’s the usual bloke? Em, Aston or… Aaron, I think his name is?”

Smooth one, Robert. Very smooth. 

“You his day planner or summat?” Cinderblock asks, and really, as a salesman he leaves quite a lot to be desired. Aaron was much better at this job. Or… actually… not really _much_ better. But the whole _everything_ of him made the spikey attitude worthwhile. 

“No, I just like to know who I’m working with. Springing a new delivery man on a bloke can be a bit unsettling. Did… something didn’t happen to him, did it?” 

The bloke rolls his eyes, which takes him down a few more pegs in Robert’s estimation before he says, “Aaron’s alright. Just been reassigned. I’ll be your new bloke for the foreseeable.” 

_Great_ , Robert thinks. Just flipping great. What the hell is he supposed to do now, aside from flush another five hundred pounds worth of drugs down the toilet and go to bed drunk out of his skull? 

He needs another plan. Stat. Good thing he’s ace at planning.   
  


~*~

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Grayson says slimily as he opens the hotel room door and invites Robert in. 

“Yeah, well, I missed you,” he replies, practically retching at the words. 

He didn’t miss him. To be honest, from the first moment he saw Aaron in his and Grayson’s last hotel room, nobody else has even so much as crossed his mind. But Robert is here now for one simple reason: Maybe, just maybe Aaron’s reassignment is a Robert-specific thing and he’s still Grayson’s dealer. 

“So… ready for a little fun?” Grayson asks as he grabs Robert around the waist, pulling him in. And Robert really doesn’t want to fuck Grayson tonight. He came into this knowing he might have to, but he’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve to use before it comes to that. 

He places his hands on Grayson’s shoulders, pushes him back gently and says, “Why don’t we wait for the drugs to arrive? Make this all a little more exciting?” 

Grayson quirks an eyebrow at him but he still smiles, which is a lucky thing. His voice practically a purr as he says, “I thought you didn’t touch that stuff?”

Robert shrugs, gives Grayson the crooked smile he knows works on him like a charm. “Maybe I’m just feeling a little… adventurous tonight.” 

He kisses Grayson then, tries his best not to gag into the kiss, which really, what is wrong with him? This is wholly unfair and Aaron should apologise right now for putting him in this state. 

Why does he have to be so sexy? So good with his lips, with his hands, with his hips, with his…

“Mmmmm, someone’s happy to see me,” Grayson hums as he slips his hand down over Robert’s rapidly hardening cock. 

Bloody flipping hell. 

They’re saved by the bell, or the knock or whatever. And Robert’s body is electric as he waits by the door to the bedroom and listens for the exchange about to take place. 

In all his planning, he never really got past this point. It’s not like he’s going to invite Aaron in for a threesome, if Robert would even want one, which he _wouldn’t_. He doesn’t want anyone else touching Aaron if it can be helped. All he really got to in the planning stage was _get Aaron in the same room as me_. But then? 

Well, then all he’s left with is a giant blank space. 

The sound of the door whooshing open sends a thrill up Robert’s spine, but the first words out of Grayson’s mouth are like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. 

“Sean! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” 

Bloody. Flipping. _Hell._

“Yeah, Aaron’s taking a little break from the dropoffs so dad’s got me doing his rounds.” 

Robert slinks back further into the bedroom, still close enough to the door to hear but not so close that he might be seen by the cinderblock he remembers from the other night. 

“Really. Did he do something to wind Cal up?” 

Robert’s heart constricts at Grayson’s question, fear flooding his system as he awaits the answer. 

“Naw, he requested it. Stupid, if you ask me. This deal is sweet compared to being groped by all the VIPs at the club. I mean, Liam loves it, but he’s an idiot.” 

“Oh, Aaron’s working at the club now?” Grayson says, his voice piquing slightly while he speaks. “Well, tell him I say hi if you remember.” 

“Will do. Have a good night, doc.” 

“You too,” Grayson replies and then the door closes and all that Robert is left with is yet another ruined plan. 

He does have something that he didn’t have last time, though. Aaron is working at _the club,_ wherever that is. And Robert will not rest until he finds it. 

~*~

He sleeps on it that night, in his own bed thankfully. Thinks good and hard about what to do next. 

At this point, he doesn’t think he’s vain in assuming that Aaron is trying to avoid him. Yeah, maybe he’s playing hard to get. Or maybe it’s all just one big coincidence. But the timing of it all leads Robert to believe that he’s actually being avoided. 

A normal person might just take the hint and give up, but Aaron was there too the other night. He was _there_ , feeling every single thing Robert felt. There’s no way anyone can fake that kind of desire. And so if he’s avoiding Robert, it’s not because he was a terrible shag, and it’s certainly not because he doesn’t, on some level at least, want more. 

Which means this really isn’t about Robert at all. 

That’s why he’s not giving up. Robert is not the type of person to deny himself something he wants, and he doesn’t understand it when others do. So really, he’s helping Aaron here, being a good samaritan, offering up his body for Aaron to have his fun with because… well… because Aaron deserves it, doesn’t he? 

That’s it. Aaron deserves it. Aaron deserves _him_. If he wants him. Which Robert is pretty sure he does. And if he doesn’t?

He’ll deal with that later. 

~*~

He’s sitting on a park bench across from his office building the next day, taking a coffee break, an Americano in one hand and his phone in the other when Clive’s head appears directly next to his from out of seemingly nowhere. 

“Cal MacFarlane club Leeds?” Clive asks, reading Robert’s newest set of google search terms over his shoulder. 

To say that Robert jumps in his seat would be an understatement. Within a second, he’s clear across the bench, his head turned towards Clive as he asks, affronted, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“What the hell are you doing looking up the MacFarlanes?” he fires back. “Something you want to tell me?” 

“I asked you first,” Robert says petulantly, not his best deflection, judging by the way Clive sniffs loudly at him like he’s trying to smell the lie Robert hasn’t even told yet. 

“I’m here to join my best mate for a coffee break,” he says blandly as he circles the bench and plonks himself down next to Robert. “Your turn.” 

“It’s just a little,” Robert starts as he literally uses his hand to wave the issue off. “Just a little bit of research. For work.” 

“Mmmm,” Clive hums. “Well I believe the club you’re looking for is Flash.” 

Robert does his best to keep his pulse rate under control, but still, he can feel it thudding in his neck. 

“How do you know that?” 

“I think the real question here is my original one: Why are you looking?” 

“I have a client a little on the risque side and I want to take them out for a night on the town, sweeten the deal and all that.” 

“It’s that Veronica Maxwell, isn’t it?” Clive thankfully bites. “You lucky dog.” 

Robert almost falls off the bench from the way Clive punches his arm, but he’s so relieved he doesn’t even care at this point. 

The club is called Flash. 

The club is called _Flash_. 

And Robert is one step closer to the finish line. 

~*~

He waits until Friday, half because he’s nervous and half because Friday just seems like the likeliest night to find Aaron. His feet are leaden, though, as he walks up to the club, decked out in a dark blue button up shirt, his best jeans and his favorite black leather jacket. 

He’s not sure if he looks the part. There wasn’t much he could find online about the club other than that it was more _underground_ than most. Which means there certainly wasn’t a dress code posted on the club’s website. But when in doubt, front it out, Robert always says, and right now, what he’s wearing feels like a suit of armour. 

He looks fit. He knows he looks fit. And clubs are generally more amenable to people that look fit. So at least he’s got that going for him. 

The line to get in is rather long, and Robert is hit on by no fewer than seven people in the time it takes to get to the front. Which only serves to prove that his choice of attire was spot on as he smiles his most winning smile at the bouncer and literally winks his way inside. 

The club is suffocating, so many bodies and so little air that Robert is finding it difficult to breathe. A task not helped by the pounding of the bass surrounding him like a physical wall. 

How do people even _survive_ this atmosphere for more than an hour? 

How does Aaron _work_ in it? 

_Aaron_. 

That’s why he’s here. It’s why he heads to the bar, waits in another interminable line for a watered down whiskey that tastes like it came from the bottom shelf. Because somewhere inside this building, Aaron is existing. And where Aaron exists, Robert wants to be. 

He finds a place to perch near the corner of the dance floor, his eyes trained on what is obviously the gateway into the VIP area in the back. _Being groped by all the VIPs at the club_ , isn’t that where Sean had said Aaron was working? 

And it makes him uncomfortable, the thought of people pulling Aaron all over, making _Aaron_ uncomfortable, all because, presumably, he wanted to get away from Robert. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be here. Maybe he should leave. Aaron told him to back off, Aaron told him it was a mistake, and here Robert is…

All thoughts stop when Aaron comes out from the back. It’s a very different Aaron to the one Robert knows, though, mostly because this Aaron is wearing a black suit and a white button up shirt undone around the collar in a way that makes heat flush immediately through Robert’s entire system. 

He’s stunning. Robert is legitimately _stunned_ by the way Aaron looks, his attention so arrested that it takes him a moment to realize that someone is with Aaron. That someone’s arm is over Aaron’s shoulder. That someone’s lips are pressed to the side of Aaron’s head. 

Aaron laughs at the gesture, actually _laughs_. And Robert didn’t know Aaron actually did that but right now, it’s the only thing he wants to see. Hours upon hours of the kind of laughter that lights Aaron’s face up like a Christmas tree. 

He’s so gorgeous that Robert forgets to breathe. 

Eventually, he glances at the man beside Aaron, recognizing him as Cal MacFarlane, head of the MacFarlane family. And Robert isn’t jealous, exactly. For all intents and purposes, it’s been clear since day one that Cal was more of a father figure to Aaron than anything else. 

But Robert is feeling a strange sort of longing that he can’t quite explain, like what it feels like to kiss someone you love goodbye if Robert had ever loved anyone enough to care about things like that. 

He wants to be near him. He _needs_ to be near him. But Cal is still there, laughing with Aaron about something Robert dearly wishes he could hear just so that, in the future, he could replicate this exact moment, with Aaron laughing with _him_. Holding his face. Kissing his lips. Laughing into his mouth. 

Where the hell did all this bloody romantic comedy nonsense come from? 

He’s about to leave. Either that or he’s about to go over there, take Aaron’s hand, lead him some place where they can be alone. He doesn’t get to do either of those things, though, because before he can move a muscle, Aaron’s eyes are finding him across the crowded room like they’re magnetized there. 

The laugh dies on his lips, the smile slipping off his face as terror floods his expression. And Robert is stuck again, this time between wanting to apologize and wanting to run but Aaron is stunning, remember? Robert is _stunned_. Which means all he can manage to do is stand in one place and stare, his breath coming in short rasps as Aaron mirrors him across the room, frozen. 

_It’s now or never_ , Robert thinks. But what do you do when both _now_ and _never_ are equally as terrifying as one another?

_You take the leap_ , a voice inside his head tells him. You take the bloody _leap_. And so Robert does. 

He leaps.


	6. Strange Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sex-related self-harm. Not a ton or anything, but it’s there.

**_Two weeks ago..._ **

“ _Robert_ ,” Aaron hisses, the name bit between his teeth as he tries to keep it in. To keep _everything_ in. 

“My name… name is Jonathan,” the bloke behind him says breathlessly, his body heavy where it’s pressing Aaron into the stone wall in front of him, his cheek scraping so hard it’s likely to leave a mark. 

He’d roll his eyes if he weren’t still trying to ride through the pain radiating through his lower back. As it stands, all he can manage is a gritted, “Whatever. Just keep going.” 

Jonathan thrusts harder, sending a sharp spike up Aaron’s spine as he reminds himself that this is exactly what he came here for, so he should really just shut up and take it.

The bloke - _Jonathan_ \- tugs at the shoulder of Aaron’s hoodie, baring skin. A laugh in his voice when he says, “Looks like someone’s beat me to it.” 

Aaron removes one of his hands from where he’s been trying to brace himself against the wall so that he can pull his hoodie back up, cover the mark left by Robert because that’s for him and him alone. 

“There’s no need for that,” he says bitterly as he shrugs Jonathan off from where he’s now trying to suck on Aaron’s jaw. “Just fuck me.” 

Jonathan chuckles at the reprimand. “Such a softie.” 

“The only thing that’s gonna be soft is me in a minute if you don’t _get on with it_.” 

He gets on with it, thankfully, his thrusts harder, the pain soothing in a way that few things are these days. But when Aaron comes a minute later - barely, at that - any ease he felt is long gone. 

Three blokes in three nights and this is all he’s left with. A series of weak orgasms and a pit in his stomach he can’t quite explain. One that opened up the second Robert pulled him to his body and sunk inside of him, smooth and effortless. 

A pit that he wants gone _now,_ and one he’ll do anything to get rid of. 

~*~ 

“You smell like smoke,” Meg mumbles sleepily as she turns over and plasters herself across Aaron’s body. “You didn’t start up again, did you?” 

“No, I just-”

He pauses, wonders if he should just tell her. Say, “I was fucked by a guy that’s a heavy smoker, and I felt too exhausted and weak after the night to bother taking a shower.” 

He doesn’t need to say it, mostly because he _never_ needs to say it with her. If there’s one person in this world that can read him - one person in this world who he’s _comfortable_ reading him - it’d be her. 

“Aw, you were with someone, weren’t you?” she coos, bracing her forearms on Aaron’s chest so she can raise herself up, look him in the eye. 

Aaron shrugs. 

“Is it someone special? Tell me everything about him.”

“He was no one,” Aaron says effortlessly because he was no one. Aaron can’t even remember his name. He can still feel the throbbing ache from having his cock rammed up his arse, but his name? That’s a mystery. 

“No one?” she asks skeptically, raising a single eyebrow for added effect. “You’ve been out after work every night this week. I’d say that’s _someone,_ Aaron. Was it the same bloke that left that nasty bruise on your neck?”

She goes to pull down his t-shirt collar at that, get a look at the bite mark she’s been winding him up over for days. But Aaron just pushes her off the same way he’d pushed off what’s-his-name. 

“He was just a one off,” he says evenly, referring to Robert. “And so was this one.” 

“Oh,” she says, sounding deflated in a way that Aaron usually likes to avoid. But he’s telling the truth here. 

The bloke tonight meant nothing the same way Robert meant nothing. It’s all just a whole load of _nothing._ And the sooner she gets any romantic notions about Aaron and his one night stands out of her head, the better. 

~*~

The text comes in at half one in the morning. Aaron is still running dropoffs, though, so he doesn’t really see it until he gets home that night near three. 

Same order. Same number. Same stupid idiot refusing to take directions. 

He almost smashes his phone against the marble counter in his ensuite, his face the picture of rage when he looks up from the sink and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. But the anger isn’t directed at Robert. Or, well, it isn’t directed _entirely_ at Robert. 

Some of it’s directed back at himself, at the way his stomach had dropped when he saw the text, the way his chest had constricted, his breath speeding up. 

His head wants to punch Robert in the face but his body just seems to want to remember what it had felt like to have Robert’s hands everywhere, touching bare skin. And this stupid text is just an unneeded reminder of a night Aaron is desperate to forget. 

He doesn’t respond. In fact, he just leaves the phone in the loo, as if putting some physical distance between himself and the object will help him put another kind of distance between himself and Robert. But it doesn’t help in the end. Not really. 

Aaron just spends the entire night dreaming of blond hair, green eyes, and miles of unmapped freckles regardless. 

~*~

He’s nervous as he stands outside the door, more nervous than he’s been in weeks, months, _years_. He made a decision this morning, deciding to tackle this whole situation head-on. But now…

Now he can’t help but wonder if he’s making a mistake. 

He’s here now, though, so he might as well knock, right? So knock he does with a sweaty palm, a white-knuckle-tight fist, and a heartbeat pounding so hard in his ears they ache. 

“Come in!” a voice calls out, sending a wave of chills down his spine. And all Aaron can think is _this is it_. 

This is it. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Cal says from behind his desk because it had to be Cal in the end, didn’t it? Aaron had no other choice. 

Aaron takes his usual seat. “I just wanted to talk to you about summat.” 

“What is it, son?” Cal asks, and Aaron…

He hates the way that kind of greeting still gets to him because it’s one of the few things that can break through the walls he’s spent the better part of the last eighteen years building. 

“I want… well, I was hoping I could have a transfer… if that’s alright with you.” 

“Did something happen?” 

Aaron only nearly avoids rolling his eyes at Cal’s predictable question as the sense memory of being with Robert floods his system. 

“No, nothing happened. No one said anything to me. No one did anything to me. I was just hoping for a change of scenery, is all.” 

Cal leans back in his chair and studies Aaron the way he always does, trying to read him like a book Aaron would rather keep shut tight. 

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” Cal asks warily, folding his hands in his lap and looking out like he knows Aaron is lying here even though he isn’t. 

There’s a difference between telling a lie and withholding the truth, and Aaron has always been very good at skating that line. 

“Nothing specific. Whatever you’ve got for me, really.” 

Cal narrows his eyes at him in one final attempt to figure out what’s going on before he says, “Hand me your mobile. I’ll have Sean take your customers for a while, put you on VIP duty.” 

“Liam’s not gonna mind me taking his spot?” Aaron asks with only a marginal amount of worry because it’s _Liam_ , and when it comes to things Aaron cares about, Liam’s opinion isn’t even within telescopic range of the list. 

Cal shrugs. “Liam will mind what I tell him to mind and leave the rest alone. You deserve a little break. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to see you. I haven’t caught sight of the mythical Aaron Livesy in ages, it seems. You’re always out and about til all hours.” 

Aaron swallows through the fear and smiles, the gesture actually meeting his eyes as he nods at Cal and gets to his feet, handing his work phone over in the process. 

“Thanks Cal. I really appreciate it,” he says, and he means it. A break away from Robert Sugden is exactly what he needs. 

He just hopes it’ll be enough. 

~*~

Aaron is taking a breather on the short balcony overlooking the dance floor. He’s been working at Flash for over a week now and he’s been groped five times already tonight, three front, two back, and all but one of them men. Which is funny, given how tightly Aaron guards his biggest secret. 

It’s a free-for-all here, though, open range on anyone that looks good. And for once he wishes there were such things as male engagement rings because maybe that would keep the dogs at bay. 

Who is he kidding? The only thing capable of stopping the arse and crotch grabbing show here is Cal’s presence, and he’s only popped in a few short times.

He hates it here. While he didn’t necessarily love his job as a high-priced courier, anything is better than this. But until he’s one hundred percent positive Robert is out of the picture, this is exactly where Aaron is gonna stay. 

He’s already had a few run-ins with Liam over this job as well, the first one being the worst given how Liam had ended up with a black eye. In Aaron’s defense, Liam had swung first, prattling on about how it couldn’t be a coincidence that Aaron just so happened to take over his spot.

It was when Aaron had suggested that Liam liked the attention of the older men that Liam had struck out. But instead of letting things pass like he usually does, Aaron had laid him flat. 

To say that his nerves have been a little frayed lately is an understatement. 

How Liam could think that Aaron actually _wanted_ this job is beyond him. If the groping weren’t enough, the going home every night smelling like expensive cigars and sadness would push him over the edge. It’s safer, though. Being here is _safer_ , and Aaron is willing to put up with a lot for a safe existence. 

“Needed a little breathing room, eh?” Cal asks as he appears at Aaron’s side, wrapping his arm around Aaron’s shoulders and pressing a quick fatherly kiss to his temple. “Things getting a little… touchy in there?” 

Aaron snorts but keeps his comments to himself. 

“I saw Mr. Fischer. He seemed… pretty keen on you.” 

There’s a laugh in Cal’s voice. That’s the only reason Aaron allows himself to smile at the allegation. 

“I told him I was engaged, but he didn’t seem to care,” Aaron says smoothly, like a good, solid, non-gay future son-in-law would. 

“Yeah, well, you always did look good in a suit, lad. Can’t really blame the old codger for trying it on.” 

Aaron looks at him with a crooked smile. “You saying you don’t mind that kind of activity in your club?” 

It’s meant to be a joke but suddenly, it feels very serious to Aaron. 

Cal shrugs, pulling Aaron tighter to his side. “As long as you don’t mind my decking the next one that tries it on with my son, I think things will be just fine.” 

Aaron laughs at that, the kind of hysterical laughter that means what’s been said isn’t really funny at all. It bubbles out of him, though, all nervous and jittery. But all Cal hears is the laugh itself, judging by the proud smile on his face. 

_He’d kill me if he knew where I got to at night_ , he thinks miserably as he continues to laugh. 

_No he wouldn’t. He loves you._

Which might be true but, in the end, when has that ever mattered in Aaron’s experience? 

He’s scanning the room a few seconds later, allowing the laugh to die on his lips when he catches sight of something that squeezes around his heart like a vise. 

He can’t be here. He’s just having some sort of hallucination brought on by guilt and fear because there’s _no way he can be here_. Only a second later he sees what appears to be a very real Robert Sugden take a step in his direction and Aaron flat out panics. 

He shakes his head minutely, watches as Robert thankfully freezes in his tracks before Aaron turns to Cal and says, “I think I’m gonna get some fresh air. That alright?” 

“Seeing as how I’ve never seen you take a break in the entire nine days you’ve been working here, I think it’s alright if you take one now. Here,” he says, taking out a wad of cash and placing it in Aaron’s palm. “Go get some food on me. I know how you love that chip shop down the street.” 

Aaron nods, smiling tightly before saying a quick, “Cheers,” and disappearing into the club. 

He pauses up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, out of sight of both Robert and Cal, his breaths heaving in his chest as he leans back against the solid foundation and tries in vain to calm himself down. 

What the hell is he doing here? 

_What the hell is he doing here?_

He grabs a pen out of his pocket on impulse, writes an address down on one of Cal’s five pound notes before shoving the rest of them in his pocket. And then he moves to the area of the club where he last saw Robert standing. 

When he comes into view, Robert’s eyes get large, tinged with fear which is good. He should be afraid. He just walked into the flipping lion’s den with nothing but a necklace made of raw meat around his neck. Aaron just ignores the look, though. Ignores everything about him, actually, as he strides over to him like there’s nothing suss going on at all. 

“Aa-” Robert starts to say, but Aaron just shakes his head again, only gives Robert a half a second of eye contact before he places the five pound note in Robert’s hand and continues walking out of the club. 

The cold air hits him like a sledgehammer, practically knocking him over, but Aaron just keeps walking, past the string of clubs on the block, past his favorite chip shop, clear out of the neighborhood. Knowing that if Robert were really there to see him - and fuck, why else would he be there? - he’ll go to the address and they’ll deal with it there. 

Aaron has no interest in having this conversation anywhere near Cal. After all, he’s not got a death wish. Not anymore, anyway. 

~*~

Aaron takes the long way to his and Emile’s warehouse, the first place he could think of private enough to meet Robert. He uses switchbacks and any other type of subterfuge he can think of, just in case he’s being followed, which means Robert’s probably been waiting a while by the time Aaron arrives. 

Not that Aaron cares. 

He’s not very deep inside when Aaron enters, which means he doesn’t have much time to get to his feet before Aaron reaches him, his hands in front of his body in a show of surrender as he says, “Aaron, just listen to me, okay?” 

Aaron grabs his jacket and shakes him, _hard_ , one, two, three times before he says, “Listen to you?! Like how you listened to me? I told you to _back off_.”

“No,” Robert says with a head shake as he wraps his hands around Aaron’s wrists, not with the intent of pulling him off, though. The gesture is far too gentle for that. 

“You told me not to order drugs anymore, and I didn’t.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes then shoves Robert away from him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he asks, “You didn’t, eh?” 

Robert does that stupid shy kicking-the-ground thing, coupled with the even stupider shy smile thing, and Aaron’s stomach does a goddamn backflip. 

“Fine, okay, so maybe I ordered some drugs, but in my defense I… I wanted to see you.” 

“How the hell is that a defense, Robert? I told you that no one could know about this and you what? Come to my place of work? Are you completely mad?” 

He pauses just long enough to take a breath but not long enough for Robert to answer him. 

“You know what, don’t answer that. I’m pretty sure that answer is already flipping clear.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It was probably out of line for me to come to the club tonight.”

“Probably?!” Aaron shouts. But to his credit, Robert doesn’t even flinch. He smiles, in fact, like something about Aaron’s anger is charming or summat. Bloody wanker. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he repeats like it’s a mantra. Like somehow, some way, Aaron’s gonna be okay with what he did because he _wanted to see him_ , whatever that means. 

“Why do you even care?” he asks because objectively, the sex they had was pretty great. But it was just sex, and it was just _once_. 

And sure, Aaron hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, but Robert knows nothing about him. So why does he care enough to risk bodily harm by walking into a drug dealer’s club just because he _wanted to see him_? 

Robert tips his head down, his voice so quiet Aaron almost can’t hear it when he replies, “Because you’re amazing.” 

Aaron scoffs. “So what? I’m a good shag? There’s gotta be easier ways to get laid, Robert.” 

“It’s not just that,” Robert fires back, his voice strong and defiant now, like Aaron just insulted some fundamental part of him. “It was different. _You_ were different. And I know… I know I’m not the only one that felt that.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them wherein they both just stare at each other, Robert’s eyes still bearing the defiance of before as Aaron asks shakily, “F-felt what?” 

Robert tips his head, his expression a little sad, like Aaron’s question is one worthy of pity as he takes a few steps closer to Aaron. 

“That thing in your gut that tells you to chase it, to hell with the consequences,” Robert says smoothly, _confidently_ , in a way that Aaron is just never capable of feeling. 

It’s magnetic, pulling Aaron in as well, making him take a few measured steps closer to Robert as he replies, “You mean the thing that makes you chase it all the way into a dangerous drug dealer’s club?” 

“I thought we already established that wasn’t my brightest decision,” Robert replies with a smirk. 

Aaron smiles at the comment, a real one, probably the first one Robert’s ever seen outta him. And the way Robert’s face lights up at the reaction makes Aaron’s skin feel warm and electric. 

“You want me, too,” Robert hums as, without even needing to touch him, he slowly backs Aaron into the nearest support column in the room. Like liquid, soft waves and soothing movement. 

“Is that a question?” he asks through a tight throat as Robert drags his nose up the side of Aaron’s neck, his hands still very much being kept to himself. 

Robert nips at his ear lobe. “Nope.” 

Aaron laughs, a deep one, straight from his gut as he says, “God, you’re arrogant,” because he is. But he’s also sexy as hell. And warm to the touch. And _right here_ , within reach. And Aaron…

Aaron isn’t sure how to resist that. 

It’s why he’s been going out on the pull every night for two weeks, getting pounded so hard he wakes up in pain the next morning. 

It’s why he risked Cal’s suspicions and Liam’s wrath by asking for a job transfer. 

It’s why he’s had to physically restrain himself from going to Robert’s flat anytime he was within twenty blocks of the place. 

Because in a life filled with careful, regimented control, Robert is the first thing he’s struggled to resist. 

“It’s been said,” Robert says in response to Aaron’s comment about his arrogance, his voice a purr this time as he traces his fingers slowly down Aaron’s arms before circling his wrists again. 

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Aaron groans as his body starts to wake up in earnest, his hips pressing out for any sort of comfort they can find. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Robert hisses when their bodies finally meet in the middle, lined up against one another through too many layers of fabric to withstand. “Are we still bantering, or can I kiss y-”

Aaron swallows the rest of Robert’s sentence in a fierce kiss, beating him to the punch, sucking at Robert’s bottom lip before nudging his mouth open with his teeth and pressing his tongue inside. 

Robert doesn’t seem to mind the assault. In fact, judging by the way he thrusts his hips forward, he’s more than on board. His own tongue pressing against Aaron’s in a push-and-pull that makes Aaron dizzy, grateful for the pillar behind him, the only thing keeping him upright. 

Robert’s large palms are warm where they bracket Aaron’s cheeks, holding him steady so he can pillage Aaron’s mouth, suck all conscious thought clear from his head. And on one hand, it’s the same as it was last time. But on the other, it’s something else entirely. 

Robert wasn’t wrong on one thing: Aaron _wants_ him. 

He breaks away from the kiss eventually, impatient as always. But when he goes to turn around, give his body up like he usually does, Robert stops him. 

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks as Robert holds his biceps and takes deep pulls of oxygen. 

“Nothing, I just,” Robert says as he lets go so he can trace his thumbs up Aaron’s cheekbones. “I want this to be for you.” 

He winks then, pecks Aaron quickly on the lips before dropping unceremoniously to his knees, and Aaron…

Well, Aaron can’t even remember the last time someone gave him a blowjob, can he? Which is probably why his entire body tenses when Robert goes to undo his belt. 

“Shhh,” Robert soothes as he rubs his cheek against Aaron’s crotch. “Just relax, yeah? Let me take care of you.” 

Aaron almost laughs at the idea until he realizes that Robert is serious here. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he forces his body to relax, one section at a time like they teach you about panic attacks. He’s not panicking here, though. He’s _wanting_ , anticipating, aching for whatever Robert wants to give him. And to say that it’s a little liberating is a grand fucking understatement. 

When Robert pulls down his trousers and his boxers, Aaron’s knees almost buckle. The column continues to hold him up, though, which is a damn good thing before the drag of Robert’s tongue along the underside of Aaron’s cock almost turns him completely boneless. 

This isn’t what sex is to Aaron, the way Robert pulls him deep into his mouth, twisting his fist to cover the shortfall. He knows people enjoy sex, that the vast majority of society _enjoys this_ , but Aaron’s never really allowed himself to do it properly, not even with Jackson really when their entire relationship was built around fear and shame. 

He’s not used to the way Robert reaches behind him and grabs his arse, encouraging him to thrust into his mouth. He’s not used to the noises Robert makes, like this is turning him on just as much as it’s turning Aaron on. He’s not used to the perfect heat and strong suction of a mouth that just wants to taste him, but he lets it take him away regardless because he can. 

In this moment, _he can._

His orgasm hits him unexpectedly, which means he doesn’t get a chance to warn Robert about it. He doesn’t rear back in disgust, though. Doesn’t spit Aaron’s cum on the filthy floor. He just hums contentedly as he swallows it all down, and that alone makes Aaron feel like he could go again immediately. 

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he waits until Robert pulls his pants and trousers back on before standing up. Then, he goes to fall to his own knees, intent on returning the favor. Only once again, Robert stops him. 

“I took care of myself,” he says with a dazed smile as he runs his hands down the lapels of Aaron’s suit jacket. And he’s being so gentle with him that Aaron almost can’t help the words that fall out of his mouth next. 

“Order again,” he says almost desperately, which is probably not a good look on him but he can’t help it. He wants this _again_. And maybe that’s okay. 

“You won’t have to really pay, if you’re worried about that,” Aaron continues when Robert just stares at him with a confused look on his face. “I’ll work the records so that you won’t be given any actual drugs. But I need you on my official itinerary, so you’ll have to order again.”

“Are you kidding me?” Robert laughs. “I’d pay for you in a heartbeat.” His face goes sour. “God, that sounded awful. I meant I’d buy drugs if it meant I got to see you again.” His face contorts even further. “That sounded worse.” 

“No it didn’t,” Aaron says as he runs his hands up Robert’s arms, feeling the folds of soft leather beneath his fingers. “The first one was worse.” 

“Was that a joke?” Robert asks with a crooked smile, and Aaron can’t help the way he smiles back. 

“Maybe,” he shoots back, and he feels light here, lighter than he has since he was eight and life was still simple. Which means he knows this is the right thing to do. His gut wouldn’t lie to him like this. 

“You told me not to order, Aaron,” Robert says a few seconds later, his voice sober as he does his best to study Aaron’s expression. “And I know I did anyway, but if this is going to get you into trouble-”

“It won’t, I promise,” he butts in. “It’s the only way we can meet legitimately. The only _safe_ way I can think of.” 

_In the half a minute I allowed myself to think of this._

The assurance seems to be enough for Robert, judging by the way his face practically splits wide open when he asks, “We’re going to meet legitimately?” 

“If you want to.” 

“If I want to? Of course I want to, you idiot! Of course I want this. I just-”

This time, Robert cuts himself off with a kiss, the kind that always seems to steal Aaron’s entire supply of oxygen as he grabs Aaron’s hips and holds him close. 

“It’s just sex, though,” Aaron stipulates once Robert’s stopped kissing him senseless. “I haven’t got space in me head for anything else.” 

“Gee, let me think. Just sex on the regular with you. I don’t know how I’ll cope.” 

“Are you always such a prat?” Aaron asks as he pushes Robert away from him, playfully this time. 

Robert just reaches out and reels him back in, fitting Aaron’s body snugly against his own. “You’ll just have to wait and find out, seeing as how we’re going to be seeing each other legitimately n’all.” 

“I’m already regretting this,” he says, but even he can’t hide the fond way he says it. 

“Now who’s the liar?” Robert whispers before leaning in to steal another kiss. And Aaron…

Aaron thinks he might quite like taking something for himself for a change. After all, there’s a first time for everything, right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We have reached the conclusion of what I consider to be the Prologue of this story. Now the real fun can start...


	7. It’s Up to You Now

“I’ll take one midnight special, please,” Robert says to his empty flat as he types the codewords for the new order Aaron gave him into his mobile because apparently party packs are “suspicious” and Aaron’s boss isn’t “stupid.” 

Robert’s going to defer to Aaron on that last one at least. The man - _Cal_ \- is the head of the biggest drug and crime ring in the city, so he must have a knack for keeping himself out of trouble. Even if Robert thinks he himself is smart enough to run rings ‘round this Cal person. 

What kind of name is Cal anyway? He doesn’t exactly _sound_ like a criminal mastermind, does he? He sounds more like a salesman at Debenhams. One that Robert reckons he could take in a fight. Or he could pay someone to take in a fight anyhow. 

All of that’s beside the very large, shiny point, though. This whole venture is Aaron’s plan, and Robert is willing to go along with any and all aspects of it in lieu of the favourable result: Aaron in his arms, Aaron’s lips pressed against his, Aaron’s body warm beneath his touch for as long as he wants it to be there.

Or, well, for as long as they want each other to be there, he should say. Fair’s fair and all that. 

The response to his text comes back almost immediately: 

_tmrw 2:30am_

There are a lot of things Robert would like to ask in response to that text. Why so late, for one. Why can’t Robert get an earlier meet time, one that allows him to actually get a full night of sleep before work? Or what’s Aaron’s problem with capital letters and abbreviation-free typing? Is he allergic to grammar? 

He doesn’t send anything back, though, because he’s _not allowed_ to send anything back. Cal monitors Aaron’s work phone (another reason not to like him apart from the obvious _runs a drug and crime ring_ ), which means there’s no way for Robert to contact Aaron if he needed and/or wanted to. He’s just got to sit and wait. 

Has he ever mentioned that he is rubbish at both sitting and waiting? 

The next day moves by at a crawl. He’d kept himself up all night in anticipation of keeping himself up all of the next night, which means he’s completely knackered and his wrist is sore all through work. But thankfully Clive must have gone out on the lash last night because he’s in much the same state as Robert is. 

They both make it through the day without an interrogation, and Robert couldn’t be happier. 

He tidies up when he gets home, puts some beers in the fridge to chill just in case Aaron happens to want one. Previous experience tells Robert that he won’t, but a bloke can dream, can’t he? And then Robert tries to do just that - _dream_. Or he tries to sleep anyway, catch up on some rest so he’ll be bright and shiny come half two. 

It doesn’t work, which he probably should have expected. It’s why he’s taking a cold shower at two a.m. to wake himself up enough to tire himself out, because he’s too flipping excited to sleep.

Robert was a literal kid at Christmas for years and he never once felt this much giddy anticipation. 

Half two comes and goes, each additional minute ticking by like a thud in Robert’s chest. So by quarter of he’s pulling his phone out, ready to send another text when the door buzzes. 

He lets Aaron up without a word spoken, and he’s honestly about to kick off at him for being late, poor business practices and all that even though they both know their business deal is fake. But as soon as he opens his door a few minutes later, all conscious thought stops immediately. 

For the first time since Robert has known him, Aaron is wearing an actual jacket. And something about that warms Robert’s skin, taking away the worry he usually feels every time Aaron shows up in the freezing cold wearing just a hoodie. 

“Dressed appropriately for the weather, I see,” he says cheerily, his insides positively bouncing just from seeing Aaron standing fully clothed in his bloody doorway. The words _we’re doing this_ cycling over and over through his head as his cheeks begin to hurt from how wide he’s grinning.

“You what?” Aaron asks, his eyes scrunching down in this amazing way that makes Robert want to just… just… _kiss_ every inch of him. 

“The jacket,” he says, grabbing ahold of the front of it and tugging Aaron into his flat before closing the door behind them. “You finally look like you’re not already half frozen to death.” 

Aaron does this cute thing where he looks down at his jacket then looks back up at Robert in confusion and Robert really can’t handle the suspense for one second longer. 

“As much as I appreciate your weather-appropriate attire,” he says, reaching out for Aaron’s jacket zipper so he can drag it down slowly, suggestively. “I hope you don’t mind if we lose this.” 

He raises an eyebrow at Aaron, getting a small smile in return that feels like winning an Olympic medal as he removes the jacket from Aaron’s body and takes a fleeting moment to appreciate the green (green!) jumper he’s wearing underneath it. 

“Are you trying to blind me with all this colour?” Robert asks as he runs his palms appreciatively down Aaron’s chest and stomach. 

“Are you always this bloody chatty before sex?” 

The word sex, coming out of Aaron’s mouth, is like a bucket of lava being poured over Robert’s head. But the good kind of lava. The sex kind, not the _burn the skin off your body_ kind. 

“If you wanted me to shut up,” he says, tugging on Aaron’s jumper so that they’re only a breath away from each other, “all you had to do was kiss me.” 

Aaron does just that, his thumbs digging hard into the dips in Robert’s hip bones as he yanks him in, pressing his lips to Robert’s in a firm, closed-mouth kiss that leaves only scorched earth all the way through Robert’s body. 

His toes are tingling. His flaming toes are _tingling_ and they haven’t even added tongues to the equation yet. 

“Move,” Aaron growls before guiding Robert back towards the sofa. And he’d really rather have a bed to lay Aaron out on, but Aaron seems determined and Robert doesn’t have the willpower to resist.

Aaron shoves him down to the sofa, but before Robert can appreciate the view of Aaron looming over him, huffing breath already, Aaron moves to undo his jeans, dropping and stepping out of them and his boxers before Robert can even get a handle on how fast everything is moving. 

“Get in me,” Aaron says as he straddles Robert’s lap. And for the first time since Aaron arrived, Robert notices that something might be a little wrong here. Though what that might be is still a mystery. 

“The lube is in the bedroom,” Robert replies as he tries to maneuver Aaron off of his lap. 

Aaron stops him, though, grabs his biceps tightly and says, “Fuck the lube, just _get in me_.” 

“Not until you’re ready,” Robert counters as strongly as he can manage in the face of an expression on Aaron’s that already looks too much like pain to handle. 

“Just do it, Robert,” Aaron says roughly as he begins to paw at Robert’s trousers, his movements almost panicked in a way that makes fear spike all through Robert’s body. 

He grabs Aaron’s hands, holds them still, and waits for Aaron to make eye contact before he says, as gently as he can, “I’m not hurting you.” 

Aaron’s face floods with anger, his voice laced with just as much of it as he hisses, “I never asked you to,” and gets immediately to his feet. 

His pants and jeans are back on him before Robert can even blink, and then he’s actually moving for Robert’s door, moving to _escape_. And there is no possible way that Robert is going to let that happen because if he does, he’s fairly certain Aaron will never come back. 

So he gets up as well, tries to ignore how spectacularly this night has failed so far, and grabs Aaron’s arm to spin him around. 

He half thinks Aaron is going to deck him, but thankfully, he doesn’t. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Robert practically begs him, and Robert is not a beggar. 

He is here, though. He’ll do anything to get Aaron to stay, to make sure this doesn’t end right at the beginning. But he can’t do that if he’s got nothing to work with, which means Aaron needs to talk to him. 

“I shouldn’t be here, that’s what’s wrong,” he says as he shakes his arm out of Robert’s grip so he can lean down and pick up his jacket. 

Robert yanks the jacket out of his hands because he’s petty and is more than willing to use tactics more suited to a soft play area to his advantage. 

“You’re not getting this back until you at least tell me what’s wrong. Did I… did I do something? Say something wrong?”

Aaron groans in frustration before pulling the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands like paws, his voice whisper quiet when he says, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” 

“Then tell me how it’s supposed to be, Aaron,” Robert replies, and the desperation in his voice is a shock even to himself. 

Robert isn’t a beggar and he’s not a desperate man either. But here he is.

Anything helpful flees from Aaron’s expression, replaced by the kind of fear one would imagine in a cornered animal. A _hurt_ , cornered animal. And something sharp tugs in Robert’s gut at that. 

“Can I just,” he starts as he drops the jacket to the ground and approaches Aaron slowly, carefully, his hands outstretched before finally finding a place to rest on Aaron’s shoulders. 

“Can I just kiss you?” 

Aaron looks at him for a few moments, his eyes showing how hard he’s thinking this over before he nods, simply, softly. Which is exactly how Robert kisses him. 

They’ve never been gentle with each other. In the two times they’ve done this, it’s all been fast and hard and heated. But right now, Robert just wants to melt into Aaron’s body, hold him close and feel him do the same. He wants to _be with_ Aaron, not just _have_ him. And just like everything else between them, it all starts with a kiss. 

Aaron is the first to pull away, but there’s a slight keening sound that escapes his lips when he does that tells Robert everything's alright before Aaron tips his head and stretches his neck, presenting it to Robert like a gift. 

Robert presses his lips to the soft skin of Aaron’s neck, just over his pulse. Feels the rumble beneath Aaron’s skin when he keens again. And Robert can’t identify just what exactly Aaron’s skin tastes like, but he hopes to god he gets the chance to memorize it because it’s incredible. Absolutely _incredible._

Aaron raises his hands to the bends of Robert’s elbows a few moments later, his breath coming in strained gasps as Robert sucks at the patch just behind his ear. But it doesn’t take long for Robert to realize that Aaron’s hands are actually shaking. 

He goes to stop, to move back, to make sure Aaron is okay, but Aaron just holds onto him tighter, pulls him in _tighter_ and moans the words, “Please… don’t… don’t stop,” right into Robert’s ear. 

“We don’t... have to... do this... you know,” Robert whispers between licking and sucking at Aaron’s neck, wanting so bad to leave marks while knowing that he can’t. “If there’s something… something the matter.” 

“I want to do this,” Aaron pants as he pulls Robert’s hands off his shoulders, but only so that he can wrap Robert’s arms around his waist. “I want _you_.” 

And Robert… well, Robert suddenly realizes how much the same is true for him. 

“Will you fuck me this time?” Robert asks as he buries his face into Aaron’s neck to hide how unsettled he is by his own neediness. 

Aaron freezes at that, all the warmth he’s managed to build up draining away once more as his grip loosens on Robert. 

“What’s wrong?” Robert asks, leaning back to get a better look at Aaron’s face. 

He doesn’t look scared anymore, just… ashamed? No, _embarrassed_. That’s the look on his face when he says, “I’ve never… never done that before. Not with a bloke, anyway.” 

“You don’t have to,” Robert replies, still a hundred percent willing to do whatever Aaron wants to do here. 

Aaron just smiles at him, though, this small, barely there thing that makes Robert’s whole body light up inside. 

“I think I want to,” he says, still so shyly, and Robert… 

Well, Robert could come right here if he’s not careful. 

Aaron lets him lead him back to the bedroom where they take each other’s clothes off slower than ever before. Shoes. Trousers. Jumpers. It all just gets shed fluidly until all that’s left is Aaron’s t-shirt. 

“Can we… can I keep this on?” he asks, breaking the kiss they’d been enjoying to ask the question to the patches of skin just below Robert’s eyes. 

“Of course,” he says, pecking Aaron once lightly on the lips. “Anything you want.” 

It’s scary how true that sentiment is. 

They lie beside each other on the bed, everything so quiet, like neither one of them wants to disturb the strange peace they’ve stumbled upon. But when Robert rolls to his back, pulling away from yet another kiss, Aaron whimpers in response. 

He really needs to stop making noises like that, or Robert won’t last five minutes. 

“Do you want me to, or do you…” Robert asks as he holds up the bottle of lube, letting the question trail off as Aaron looks up at him with a mix of lust and lost in his eyes. 

“You can do it,” Aaron says, running a hand softly over Robert’s torso. And that’s all the invitation Robert needs to get started. 

He’s got his eyes closed tight by the time his second finger slips inside of himself, his attention split between the way he’s opening himself up and the way Aaron is kissing his neck and rubbing his stomach, whispering encouragement into his ear. He’s so lost in all of that, in fact, that he practically jumps out of his skin when a third finger that’s most definitely not his joins the party. 

“Is this okay?” Aaron asks as he curls his finger around one of Robert’s, firmly planted up his arse. 

“Yeah, yeah,” is all Robert can respond, the words coming out in pants as he twists his hips to give Aaron better access. 

This is, hands down, one of the sexiest things Robert has ever experienced in his long and sex-filled life. 

They finish opening him up together, both of them groaning by the end for very different reasons. And Robert is so worked up that it takes three tries for him to get the condom on Aaron. 

He’s like a bloody teenager again. 

Aaron doesn’t fuck like a teenager, though. For all his talk about never having done this with a bloke before, he’s a goddamn superstar from the first thrust. Each one stronger, more precise, more deadly than the last as Aaron’s body weighs him down into the mattress. 

“Fuck, this feels…” Aaron huffs out at one point, right around the time he finds Robert’s prostate which is a good moment for Robert if he says so himself. 

“I know,” Robert replies. “I know.” Because he does. 

This feels like everything. 

Thanks to Aaron’s fist, Robert comes first, spilling over his own stomach and chest, getting all over Aaron’s t-shirt as Aaron thrusts five, six, seven more times before he’s shuddering above Robert and filling the condom. The sweat glistening off his skin making him look like he’s glowing in the faded moonlight pouring through Robert’s open curtains. 

He looks like some sort of painting. And those are precisely the kinds of thoughts that Robert needs to avoid. 

He tries to lean up and kiss Aaron, maybe pull him down to the bed, wrap himself around his body, hold him there for a while. But Aaron is pulling out and off of him within seconds, disposing of the condom in the ensuite and bringing back a wet towel for Robert to clean off with. 

“Fancy staying for a drink or something?” Robert asks with only marginal hope, given the fact that Aaron’s already got his boxers and jeans back on. Deja vu hitting him like a ton of bricks as he remembers their first night together in this bed. 

“Soz, I can’t. On a time schedule,” Aaron replies, and the response itself wouldn’t seem so painful if not for the fact that Aaron won’t even look him in the eyes when he says it. 

“Got a lot more deliveries then tonight?” 

Aaron nods before disappearing into his jumper, completely ignoring the way he’s getting cum all over the inside of it. 

“So are we still… doing this?” Robert asks shakily, scared as he is of the answer. 

Aaron looks at him then, his face entirely unreadable before he says, perfunctorily, “Wait at least four days before you order again,” and leaves. Just like that. No more words, no kiss goodbye, no parting blowjob, he just _leaves._

And Robert…

Well, at least Robert has only four days to wait this time. That’s got to be worth something, right? 

~*~ 

Robert sends a text exactly four days later. He gets a response, setting up a time…

And Aaron never comes. 

The same thing happens four days after that. Order sent out, time set up, nothing but dead air when said time arrives. 

By the third text he sends, he’s beginning to take the hint. Not that he wants the hint. He’d quite like to blow the hint up with a stick of dynamite. But he takes it. 

Aaron’s not coming back. 

He still sends a fourth message, just in case. 

~*~

Exactly four days after his final text, Robert turns his cell phone off, shoves it in his jacket pocket, and drives to Emmerdale. 

It’s not because Vic’s been bugging him for weeks about how long it’s been since she’s seen him because Robert doesn’t answer to his pint-sized kid sister. He just fancied a little bit of fresh air, is all. And he knew if he stayed home he'd send some sort of pathetic _why are you avoiding me_ text to Aaron and truly, no one wants that. So he goes. 

It’s a Saturday, which means the roads are jammed with weekend travelers even in these frigid temperatures. And for all Robert knows, Vic might be working a shift at the pub today. But even if that’s the case, he knows her. The second she sees him walk in, work will go flying out the window like he’s the prodigal son himself returning. 

Get out the fatted calf, folks! Robert Sugden has come home. 

By the time he pulls into the little village, his chest is as tight as it’s ever been. He’s made a commitment to doing this, though, even if it was a shortsighted one. And unlike _some people_ , when Robert makes a commitment, he follows through with it. 

God he hates this place. 

He tries his sister’s cottage first, hoping he won’t need to go any further than that on his little visit. On the plus side, her useless husband Adam doesn’t answer the door. On the minus side, neither does Vic.

The pub it is. 

His footsteps get heavier as he walks towards the Woolpack, one foot in front of the other like it’s just that simple. Nothing has changed here, that’s what he’s zeroing in on. Every single thing looks exactly the same. And sure, he’s only been gone a few months, but it’s all a mirror image of when he left _for good_ almost a decade and a half ago like the whole place is just frozen in time. And that is something that’s never managed to sit right with him. 

How Vic can stand to live here he’ll never know. 

The pub is packed when he opens the door, causing the already heated air to become stifling as soon as Robert sets foot into it. And for not the first time today, he has the overpowering urge to turn around and go home. Before he gets the chance to do that, though, Vic spots him. 

Of course he’d pick the one moment where she was behind the bar instead of back in the kitchen to enter. That’s just his bloody luck, isn’t it? 

“Robert!” she shouts over the commotion of the dinner rush. And before he knows it, she’s rounding the bar and quite literally flinging herself at him like he’s just been found after being lost at sea for years. 

Her arms practically strangle him where they’re wrapped around his neck as she asks excitedly, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” 

“And miss the look of surprise on your face just now? No chance,” he replies, his voice strained thanks to the way she’s _still strangling him_. 

She must be able to sense that he can’t breathe properly because she lets him go a second later. She doesn’t go far, though, just a small step backwards, her head craned to look up at him as she smiles and sighs at him in content. 

It’s the exact way his mother used to look at him, with the exact same eyes that Victoria owns, all of which is just a little too unsettling for him right now. 

“Fancy a spot of dinner?” he asks through the tightness in his throat, this time brought on by memories. “My treat.” 

She frowns at him before looking around the pub. “We’re a bit jammed here right now. I’ll see if I can get off once this lot has settled down, though. Stay for a pint while you wait?”

It’s Robert’s turn to look around the room. Most of the occupants are ignoring them after the initial burst of Vic’s excitement. But there are still a few giving him the evils for god knows what reasons, and Robert would very much _not_ like to give them a chance to harass him. 

“I think I’ll take a look around. Visit mum. Meet you back here in say, an hour?” 

She nods emphatically even if the look on her face is a little sad. “That should be good.” She bites her lip for a second before leaning up and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “It really is good to see you, Rob.”

“It’s good to see you too, Vic,” he says, and he’s surprised by how much of a lie that _isn’t_. 

~*~

Another thing about pokey little villages is that even if you haven’t seen everything in them - which Robert has - it still takes about ten minutes to see the highlights. Which means after buying some chocolate in the shop, ostensibly for Vic but really for himself, and delivering some flowers to his mother’s grave, Robert has a good forty minutes to wander around aimlessly. 

His luck runs out at minute twenty-eight. 

To say that he’s surprised to see Katie riding down the street on one of her precious horses would be a lie. Mostly because she could always be relied upon to fill any number of cliche roles in the village. 

Horse girl. Local Saint. Village Bike. 

“What’s with the horse?” he asks regardless once she’s within range, the smell of the beast taking him back unpleasantly to his days on the farm. “The better to look down on people with? Or are you just treating one of your relatives to a ride around town?”

“What’s with the long face?” Katie fires back. “Still feeling sour over the divorce?”

Robert narrows his eyes at her in a warning she doesn’t heed. 

“Chrissie, right? She seemed lovely. Pity she was dumb enough to marry you. How long did you last again?”

“How close to your wedding night did you sleep with me?” he says by way of answer, never one to let Katie get the upper hand in anything. 

Katie flinches at that. Hit landed, then. 

“The Great Robert Sugden,” she says haughtily in order to cover up how much his last comment clearly stung. “You can take the boy out of the village, but he’ll always be the village bike.” 

He tries to stop his eyes from narrowing this time so as not to let her know she’s getting to him, but something about her words today, right now, with his phone off in his pocket and Aaron still on his mind, burns. 

“You’re just hacked off you got stuck on a derelict farm with my dull brother,” he bites out, sounding more bitter than he wants to. “But if you don’t mind, I have dinner plans with my sister before I go home to my high rise apartment in the city and fall asleep on piles of money.”

He smiles as wide as he can get his face to cooperate with. 

“It was lovely seeing you, Katie. Give my love to Andy.” 

He walks away at that, both to stop himself from doing or saying something he’ll regret and to stop himself from hearing anything else Katie’s got to say. The only problem is, he’s still got almost a half hour until Vic will be ready and there’s nowhere left to walk in this stupid village that won’t ruin his shoes. 

A pint at the pub it is. 

Because his luck is always abysmal when he’s at home, Chas is the only one behind the bar when he walks back in. 

Robert is almost a hundred percent positive that he’s never done anything to offend Chas. But Chas is Katie’s best friend, which means she’s also her proxy in all things _torturing Robert._

“I don’t want any trouble,” he says as he takes a seat at the bar, grateful that the pub is no longer heaving like it was a half hour ago. “I just want a pint.” 

She surveys him, dragging her eyes over all the parts she can see before silently shrugging and grabbing a pint glass. 

Well that was easy. 

He drinks his pint slowly, staring down into his glass because in this place, eye contact is tantamount to an invitation to chat. And the last thing he wants to do is sit here listening to village gossip. Eventually, though, he’s saved by the reappearance of Vic behind the bar, this time dressed in skinny jeans and a purple hoodie instead of her chef whites. 

It’s not the same colour purple as the one he’s seen Aaron wear, but it’s enough to bring his mind right back there all over again. 

“I’ve decided that we’re going back to mine and I’m cooking for yas,” she says sternly once she’s finished rounding the bar. “No restaurants for us Sugdens. I want you all to myself.”

“That sounds ominous,” he replies droly, but all Vic does is punch him on his arm before linking hers with it so she can lead him out of the pub.

“Adam’s going to be at the farm late tonight, so we’ll have the place all to ourselves,” she continues excitedly as they huddle together from the wind while crossing the street. 

And all Robert can think is _thank god for small miracles_. Because Adam may be harmless, and his sister may be madly in love with him for some unknown reason, but if Robert had to spend the evening talking to him about cows and video games, he might just go jump into the quarry.

Maybe this day will turn out good after all. 

~*~

“So, how’s your love life?” Vic asks once all the available topics for smalltalk have been exhausted, their dinner plates long since discarded, cheese from the lasagna stuck to the glass.

Robert just rolls his eyes and says, “Next.” 

“Was that a request or an indication of the state of things?” she says cheekily, and Robert can’t help but smile at her. 

He may think her life is dreadfully boring, and he may have a vast amount of questions over her choice in both life partners and living arrangements, but he still loves his sister more than anyone else. Maybe not more than himself, he hasn’t quite worked that equation yet, but he loves her, is the point. 

“I just want to know if you’re seeing anyone, Rob,” she all but pleads. “A simple yes or no and I’ll back off.” 

“No,” he says with only a slight, Aaron-shaped pause. One that Vic somehow manages to pick up on. 

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” she presses. “Is there someone? A woman?” She pauses. “A bloke?” 

Vic, like everyone, found out about Robert’s bisexuality in the Chrissie blow out about six months back. But Vic, like everyone, still seems to be having troubles talking to Robert about that. 

Not because she’s not supportive - if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that Vic backs him one hundred percent on his choices in love. But she’s still hesitant to ask him about it, probably because every time she does he turns into a bloody turtle. 

Which is what he’s doing now, his shoulders hunching over as he says, “I promise you, there’s no one, woman or bloke,” even though those words feel like a lie for some reason. 

_He ditched you_ , Robert reminds himself. _He doesn’t want you_. But that doesn’t mean Robert doesn’t want _him_. And if there’s one thing he doesn’t want Vic to know, it’s that. 

So… turtle it is! 

~*~

His visit to Emmerdale was one of his least upsetting ones to date, but Robert still feels the need to go out and drink himself daft as soon as he’s back in Leeds. It’s just the effect the village has on him. So he drops his car off at his flat, considers calling Clive to join him, thinks better of it, and hops into a taxi. 

It starts pissing rain when he’s in the pub, and that coupled with the leaden weight in his stomach makes him stop drinking long before he’s fall-down drunk, like he wanted to be. He’s practically borderline sober, in fact, as he catches a taxi home. But he’s drunk enough that when a dark figure emerges from the shadows in front of his building, it’s a near thing that he doesn’t scream. 

“Robert,” a voice comes from within the darkness, and Robert would know that voice anywhere. He’s just not sure if he wants to hear it right now. 

He begins to soften the second he sees the state Aaron is in. He’s soaked to the bone, for starters, not wearing the jacket he’d been sporting the last time Robert saw him. Just jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and nothing more to protect him from the elements. 

It’s his face, though, that gets Robert. It looks completely bare, open, and miserable. And apparently that’s enough to get the forgiveness train moving out of the station. 

“Jesus, Aaron, how long have you been out here?” he asks as they both continue to stand in the freezing rain despite the warm building only a meter or two away. 

Aaron shrugs. “A bit.”

_Well, that’s a huge bloody understatement,_ Robert thinks. But before he can say that out loud, Aaron is speaking again. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says like they’re old friends and not failed fuck buddies. 

“You know, there are these things called mobile phones. I know that you know how to use them.” Robert pauses and lets his gaze drop to the pavement near Aaron’s feet. “Or sometimes you do, anyway.” 

Robert looks at him again, sees indecision painted all over Aaron’s face, and a part of him wants to just tell Aaron to piss off. The larger, more human part of him, though, sees a freezing bloke out in the rain, possibly on the verge of an apology. And Robert can’t just let this drop without at least giving Aaron a chance to warm up and speak his piece. 

“Sorry,” Aaron says before Robert can sort his head out. “This was a mistake.” 

Before he can go, though, Robert grabs his arm gently and holds him back. “No, wait. Do you… you fancy a cuppa?” 

For the first time since meeting him, Aaron actually says yes to a drink, his head nodding that slight way he uses like it’s hard for him to commit to even small things. And Robert wants to punch himself over how good that small submission feels. 

They ride the lift in near dead silence, nothing but the hum of the pulley system and the soft plop of rain water as it drips off of Aaron’s clothes to keep them company. And there are so many things Robert wants to say here, even more that he wants to ask. But something tells him that he needs to wait for Aaron to come to him this time, and so that’s exactly what he does. 

He turns his heat up a few degrees as soon as they’re in his flat, his voice hesitant as he asks, “I have some spare clothes, if you wanted to change into something dry?” Because he doesn’t want this to be about that. Not tonight. And if Aaron doesn’t want to even so much as get naked to get dry, then Robert will ply him with blankets and deal with the water marks on his sofa later. 

“Sure… um… thanks,” Aaron stammers out, turning to walk toward Robert’s bedroom without another word spoken. And the silence continues once they’re in there, Aaron standing on one side of the bed while Robert stands on the other, fishing through his wardrobe for his warmest jumper and some comfortable trackies. 

He hands the clothes over and smiles softly before leaving Aaron to get settled. But once the kettle starts whistling, he realizes he’s got no idea how Aaron likes his drink. 

He goes back to his bedroom, thinking that Aaron has to be dressed by now, but the first thing he sees when he walks through the door is the naked skin of Aaron’s torso. 

Aaron grabs out for the jumper, covering himself up quickly so that Robert doesn’t see much beyond the hazy definition of Aaron’s muscles. But the jumper doesn’t cover everything. 

Robert can’t see his stomach or chest now, but he can see his side, and his breath catches a little at the sight of the huge bruise riding up his ribs like a wave of angry reds and dark purples. 

“Sorry,” Robert spits out as he tears his eyes away from the marred skin on Aaron’s body. “I just wanted to know how you take your tea.”

Aaron turns his back to Robert, ducks into the dark blue jumper Robert’s leant him, before turning back, fully clothed, and saying a quiet, “Milk, two sugars.” 

Robert nods. It seems to be all he’s capable of right now. 

They end up sitting on his sofa, drinking tea and watching the replay of some international match that neither of them seem to care the slightest bit for. And Robert desperately wants to ask Aaron why he’s here, what _exactly_ is going on, but he also doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful bubble they’ve managed to create around them, here in this moment. 

So he watches football, which he basically hates. And he drinks his tea long after it’s gone cold because Aaron is sitting next to him, and somehow that’s enough. 

“I wanna do this for real,” Aaron says on one of the million commercial breaks, his eyes still glued to the television like he can’t bear to rip them away. 

“Do what?” Robert asks even though he’s pretty sure he knows. 

He needs Aaron to say it, though. To turn to face Robert and say, “I want to do this… this thing. Me and you. The meetings. The… the sex. I promise this time I’m serious.” 

“You don’t owe me anything, Aaron,” Robert says, but when he goes to get to his feet, Aaron pulls him back down to the sofa. 

“I know, I just,” he says before leaning over the space between them and pressing his lips softly to Robert’s. No heat, no intent, just a message, spoken without a single word. 

“I want ya,” he whispers as he leans back slightly from the kiss, his eyes bouncing wildly over Robert’s face, looking for an answer. “If you still want me.” 

Robert laughs at that. He really can’t help it. But his laughter dies as soon as he sees the offended look on Aaron’s face.

This time it’s Robert’s turn to drag Aaron back as he tries to pull away, his lips just as soft and insistent on Aaron’s as he says, directly into his mouth, “I thought it was pretty obvious by now how much I want you.”

Aaron smiles at him, the first real, genuine, wide smile that Robert has ever seen grace his face. And it’s like a direct ray of sun to Robert, warming up every inch of his skin. 

“Good,” Aaron says, and for once, he actually sounds confident about something. Happy, almost. “So I’ll see ya in four days then?” 

Robert wants to groan at the time delay. But it was the original deal, after all, so he says, “I’ll see you in four days,” because he’ll take what he can get at this point. 

“Alright if I bring your clothes back then?” he asks, nervously this time as he pulls the sleeves of Robert’s jumper down over his hands. 

He wants to say _you can keep them_. Wants to tell Aaron that he looks better in Robert’s clothes than Robert does. But instead, he says a simple, “Of course,” because they’re still walking on eggshells here. And Robert will be damned if he’ll be responsible for a single one cracking. 


	8. Shine a Little Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-harm. Just… tread lightly. 

For as long as Aaron can remember, there’s been a constant stream of noise inside his head. 

If he’s lucky, it’s just static, hissing away in the background like a bad hangover. If he’s unlucky, though, it’s voices. Mostly different versions of his dad (angry-dad, enraged-dad, sociopathic-dad, creeping-into-his-room-at-night-dad), and mostly telling him the same things his real dad told him when he was a kid. That he’s worthless. That he doesn’t deserve to breathe, let alone be happy.

That he deserved every single thing his dad gave him. 

In the past, pain was the only thing that was able to cut through the noise. Literally. A distraction from the sounds of his childhood carved into his body. And he tried going back to that again in the past couple of weeks, multiple times. But for some reason, it didn’t work anymore. Not the way it used to, anyway. 

So he’d gone back to the clubs. But even there, he’d bottled it. The first guy who even looked at him sent Aaron running to the bogs to throw up his tea. And after it all, he just ended up hurting himself more. 

More cuts. More bruises. Less help. More and more flipping _noise._

In the end, he’d caved. Because if he’s being honest with himself - which he rarely is - lately, he’s stumbled across something that calms him better than any cut or back alley fuck has managed to do before. 

_Robert._

When he’s with Robert, for some miraculous reason the noise inside his head goes quiet and everything else goes still. For those stolen few hours a week, Aaron is at peace. And maybe he doesn’t deserve that, but he’s found that he _wants it_ , that he’s willing to take it as often as he can get away with. And so he keeps coming back even though every inch of his body fights him on every step. 

Of course the second he leaves Robert’s flat, everything comes rushing back to him. But he’s not gonna worry about that now, not when he’s got Robert writhing on the bed beneath him, his skin like molten lava everywhere Aaron touches it, and nothing but dead air humming between his ears. 

“Who the hell keeps texting you at gone midnight on a flipping Tuesday?” Aaron hisses out in response to Robert’s phone buzzing for the fourth time in twenty minutes as he rolls his hips and presses as deep inside of Robert as he can from this angle. 

“Let me just consult my psychic powers and see, shall I?” Robert asks snarkily, just like usual, as he grips his fingers so tight into Aaron’s biceps he’s gonna leave bruises.

Aaron likes bruises. Likes pressing his fingers into them, feeling the pain refreshed, remembering where they came from. 

“Oh god, right _there_ ,” Robert adds when Aaron finally finds his prostate, his whole body stiffening beneath Aaron as he throws his head back into the pillows and groans deeply, the tendons on his neck standing out sharply. 

This might be another reason why Aaron’s head goes quiet when he’s around Robert. Because in bed, Robert is bloody _loud_. 

“Fuck, there. Fucking fuck me _right there_!” he shouts, grabbing Aaron’s arse so he can pull Aaron further into his body before groaning at the physical response it elicits. 

Robert feels good, so flaming _good_ , and it’s like Aaron is walking on a ledge when he does this, ready to fall into the abyss because Aaron doesn’t get to have _good_. He’s spent his life stealing and regretting every bit he can find. But here, now, wrapped around Robert’s body, his sweat staining the white t-shirt Robert lets him keep on at all times, he _wonders_. 

“Fuck, Aaron, touch me please. I need… need it to be you,” Robert begs, his hands still gripped onto Aaron’s arse cheeks. And it only takes a second for Aaron to oblige, for him to snake his hand between their bodies and grip Robert’s cock with just the right amount of pressure to make him cry out as if he’s in pain. 

He’s not. The look on his face assures Aaron that he’s not anywhere _near_ pain. 

“Please, please, please,” Robert continues to beg, repeating the same word over and over again as Aaron strokes him towards his orgasm. Holding his weight on his free hand, planted into the mattress, as he continues to rock down into Robert’s welcoming body. 

“Please!” Robert shouts as he comes, the word drawn out to way more syllables than it actually owns. And just like usual, it doesn’t take long for Aaron to follow him over the cliff. His eyes going white and every single noise in his head short-circuiting with it as he comes inside the condom in a desperate, almost painful rush.

He’s breathing hard when he comes back to his senses, his body nothing but dead weight flopped on top of Robert as they both try to huff and puff their way back to some kind of normalcy. And Aaron is dead tired, but he also sorta feels like he could go again if he gave himself the chance, which is pretty much his new normal with Robert. 

Wanting more, taking less. 

Aaron is the first to move, half because he’s on top of Robert and half because he’s _always_ the first to move. To get cleaned up. To get dressed. To be gone. His body always feeling like there’s someone behind him, pressing in the center of his back, making him go. 

Like the voices in his head are approaching fast, and he needs to get out before they catch him. 

“It’s my sister,” Robert says as Aaron returns to the bedroom and tosses a damp towel onto his stomach. 

“You what?” 

Robert looks at him, raises one eyebrow then wiggles his phone around for emphasis. “The texts. They were all from my sister. Which, by the way, I totally blame you for.”

Aaron stops in the process of pulling up his boxers, letting his eyes trail to where Robert is laid out naked on the bed like an invitation. 

“For what?” Aaron asks, clearly having missed a beat. 

“My sister won’t stop texting me.” 

“How’s that my fault again?” he asks, this time allowing himself to pull his boxers all the way up before he turns around to find his jeans. 

“She hasn’t stopped texting since I visited, and I never would have gone back to Emmerdale to see her a few weeks back if you hadn’t been blanking me.” 

Aaron freezes. Literally. Every single part of his mind and body just freezes for a few long, excruciating seconds before he manages to choke out, “Emmerdale?” 

“Yeah,” Robert says casually, thankfully not picking up on Aaron’s distress this time. “It’s the village where I’m from. Have you heard of it?” 

Aaron turns to face him, a fake smile plastered across his face as he says, “No, I haven’t,” even though the name of that village will be blazoned across his memory for the rest of his life. 

“It’s just a little, sleepy village. Literally nothing of note. Except that one time we had that bloke who…”

Robert prattles on, oblivious to the fact that Aaron has completely checked out of the conversation. And all Aaron can hear now is static again as he sees his mum, chasing him down a beach, the picture once buried in his memories now coming to the surface. 

There’s a cricket pavilion where he carved his name the last time he ever saw his mother. An overweight vet that she was dating. A family full of people whose faces are now little more than a blur, but it could’ve been home, one day. It could’ve been _his_. 

_Emmerdale._

He doesn’t know how he gets out of Robert’s apartment, isn’t even sure if he says another word to him or if he just runs. All he knows is that by the time he’s safely in the hallway, the voices are all back, rushing his thoughts, creating a din as he stands outside Robert’s door and shakes. 

He presses his thumbs into the bruises forming from Robert’s grip, takes some solace in the pain already pooling beneath his skin and imagines what the marks will look like tomorrow, how long they’ll last. Thinks about the ineffectual nature of bruises as compared to cuts because bruises fade, but cuts can always be reopened. 

It calms him a little. It calms him _enough._ And he’s almost got himself together when his phone vibrates in his pocket, scaring the living hell out of him. 

He’s almost positive that it’s Robert, even though he knows Robert only has his work mobile and it’s very much his personal one that’s buzzing. He imagines it being Robert, though. Imagines that Robert saw there was something wrong, that Robert wants to check up on him. But when he looks down at his screen, he sees the name _Emile_. 

He can’t tell if he’s relieved or not. 

_Just checking in. It’s beautiful here in France. How’s the weather in England?_

It’s a code they worked out together - rain is bad, sun is good, daft stuff like that. But all Aaron has to offer back right now is a big, fat nothing because the deal with the French has been so far on the back burner lately he’s almost forgotten about it entirely. 

He still says, _plenty of sun here_ , because Emile doesn’t need to know anything else. And that is that…

For now. 

Before he puts his phone away, he shoots off another text message. This time to Sean, with three simple words: 

_same time tmrw_

Ten seconds later, he gets the thumbs up emoji. And so at least one thing is settled. Because even though Robert is the most effective, there’s still more than one way to dial the noise down in his head. And these days, beggars can’t be choosers. 

~*~

He’s hunched over as he comes home post-shift the next night, one arm wrapped tightly around ribs that may or may not be cracked. 

Who the hell is he kidding? They’re definitely fucking cracked. He can practically feel the frayed edges scraping against his insides like razor blades. 

_Fuck_. 

It’s his own fault. He pushed things too far today, let things get to a point that’s gonna be hard for those around him to ignore. Which has always been Aaron’s way of doing things: Pain is good as long as it’s invisible. 

He can barely stand up straight right now. That’s basically the complete _opposite_ of invisible. 

He should have the house to himself at least, which means he can just curl up in bed and die a little bit without having to have Meg standing over him, mithering away his will to live. _Should have_ being the optimal flaming words here. 

“Oh good! You’re home!” Meg calls out as Aaron tries and fails to shuffle his way across the living room undetected. 

“Greg canceled on me and he promised he’d finally watch Blair Witch with me tonight.”

Aaron must have a look of fear painted across his already pained face because Meg just rolls her eyes at him and laughs. 

“No one’s home. It’s fine. I can shout _Greg Lawson and me are fucking_ at the top of my lungs,” she says, shouting the middle bit for extra emphasis, “and no one will be here to care.” 

“Okay,” Aaron replies, grateful that he wiped the sweat off of his face before he entered the house because Meg hasn’t yet twigged to what’s going on with him. 

Maybe she just thinks he’s got a backache from all that carrying of drugs he does all night. She’s proven multiple times in the past that she has no idea what he does for a living, and no desire to know either. 

“What’s that got to do with me?” he adds when a raise of Meg’s eyebrow makes it clear that his participation in this conversation is more required than requested. 

“Well, I can’t very well watch Blair Witch _alone_. You’ll be having me waking you up all night from nightmares.”

“Here’s an idea: Don’t watch it then.” 

She rolls her eyes again before crossing her arms and tapping her foot. “I already had _plans_ to watch it. I can’t just _not do it_. You know that’s not how my brain works.” 

It’s Aaron’s turn to roll his eyes, even though she’s right. There’s probably a diagnosis in there somewhere, but since they were both brought up in a family that thinks mental illnesses are physical weaknesses, it’ll never get a proper name. 

“Please, Aaron. You don’t even have to stay awake if you’re too tired. Just let me punch you every now and again during the scary bits.”

She bats her eyelashes at him, pouts her lips in a way that probably only works with two people in this world for vastly different reasons: Him and Greg. 

“Fine,” he groans, the rattle of the word making something pinch in his side so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. 

This is gonna be a fun night. 

Thankfully, Meg keeps to her side of the sofa for the first half of the film, which means that Aaron gets to stew in excruciating peace. He even manages to drift off a bit, probably thanks to all the painkillers he’s been downing all night. Which is why he’s startled almost out of his skin when he feels Meg curl into his side. 

His _injured_ side. 

“Ow! Fuck!” Aaron screams before he can rein himself in. And any hope he had of his injury escaping Meg’s notice evaporates in an instant. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks as she pauses the film so she can give her full attention to Aaron, which is just bloody terrific. 

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he bites out, but he can feel his face contorting as he says the words, can feel his whole body straining against the desire to just curl around the injury and hold it tight. 

“Show me your stomach,” she demands, getting right to the point like always. 

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” he growls back, but Meg has never been scared of Aaron’s more prickly bits. So instead of letting things lie, she scooches across the sofa and grabs the hem of his jumper. 

“We can do this willingly or we can do it forcefully, but I _will_ see what you’re trying to hide from me under here,” she says, her voice a poor attempt at strong because Meg is one of only two people in this world that know of his issues with consent. 

“Jesus Christ, Meg, whatever,” he says bitterly, solving the problem for her as he takes his jumper and t-shirt and raises them high enough to see the patch of dark bruising that looks like a bullseye over the cracks in his ribs. 

“Aaron,” she almost sobs, one hand rising to cover her mouth as the other one reaches out, just shy of touching his bruises. “What… what the hell happened?” 

“I was just boxing with Sean is all,” he replies, which is mostly the truth. At least half the truth anyway. And maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get away with just that. 

“Is this… is it self-harm?”

So much for being lucky. 

“No!” he shouts, letting his shirt and jumper slide back down his stomach. “I just told you I got it boxing with Sean.” 

Meg tips her head and squints her eyes at him. “You don’t get marked up like this unless you’re terrible or you want to, and you’re the best boxer I know.” 

She pauses for a second, lets the silence settle between them before saying, more quietly, “You promised you’d talk to me about this stuff, Aaron. After last time. That you’d tell me if you were feeling like doing it again. That’s the _only_ reason I never told dad.” 

“It’s not self harm, okay?” he replies, doing his best to sound like he’s telling the truth when he one hundred percent isn’t. “Sean just got in a few lucky punches, that’s all.” 

“Your ribs are cracked,” she says, master of the obvious. “That’s not a few lucky punches. That’s you, dropping your guard. That’s you, leaving yourself vulnerable. And that’s… _fuck_ , that’s Sean being a fucking prat and taking advantage, _Jesus fucking Christ_ Aaron, how long has this been going on?” 

“Nothing is going on, alright?” he says as he gets to his feet, refusing to so much as wince at the pain it causes him. “All… _that_ ,” he continues, waving lightly in the general direction of everything she just said to him, “is just a bunch of conspiracy theories. I need to work on my guard. _That’s all_!” 

He storms off once he finishes, but it’s only a light fucking storm, a drizzle really, because he can’t walk right when he’s in this much pain. He can’t be around Meg right now either, though. Can’t see the look of concern in her eyes while he lies to her face. So he goes into one of the multiple guest bedrooms in the house and locks the door behind him because he needs to be alone tonight. 

Thankfully, the noise inside his head makes it so that he can’t even hear himself think. 

~*~

He sees Robert two nights later. Meg isn’t talking to him, but she also isn’t avoiding him either. Which means after two nights of Meg’s puppy dog eyes and careful, tiptoed distancing, Robert couldn’t come quick enough. 

Aaron thought about just showing up at his flat uninvited the night after his argument with Meg. He couldn’t box with Sean that day thanks to his ribs, couldn’t do much to quiet what was going on in his head. But he doesn’t want to rouse suspicions by returning to the flat on nights he’s not contractually obligated to be there, so he’d stayed away.

It was one of the hardest things he’s had to do in recent weeks. 

He’s here now, though, riding up in the lift and praying that his ribs are healed enough to do this, counting down the seconds until he can get Robert on him, in him, under him, _wherever_ because he just needs the release today more than ever before.

It’s going okay at first. Passionate kissing: Check! Slow maneuvering towards the bedroom: Check! Hands roving over each other’s bodies: Check! But it’s that last one that gets him in trouble in the end. 

When Robert’s hand skates over the ridges of Aaron’s ribs, he can’t help the way he hisses into Robert’s mouth. 

Robert backs off immediately, and for not the first time, Aaron wishes he’d just act like every other bloke he’s come into contact with and just _get on with it_. He looks concerned instead, though, the farthest thing possible from _on, in, under, wherever_. And Aaron is forced to bite his tongue in preparation for whatever is coming next. 

“Are you hurt?” Robert asks for confirmation. 

But before Aaron realizes that maybe he could play it off as a hiss of passion, he says, “I think I’ve got a few cracked ribs. It’s no big deal.”

Robert’s eyes get about three sizes wider. “No big deal?! Aaron, have you… what happened? Did you… did you go to the A&E?” 

Robert reaches out at that, like he’s planning to play doctor and examine Aaron’s ribs himself, before he pulls back sharply. 

“Don’t start,” Aaron tries to warn. But Robert just says a stern, “Aaron,” that sounds too much like Meg for comfort right now. 

“Not you n’all,” he groans as he turns away from Robert, lifting his good arm so he can run his hand over his head. “You sound like my flaming fiance.” 

Oh.

Oh no. 

The silence is like a physical presence behind him, sucking up all the space between him and Robert before Robert finally shatters it with a shaky, “You… you’re engaged?” 

Aaron turns around, keeping his eyes just below Robert’s chin as he says an anything-but-confident, “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

Robert pauses for a few long seconds, apparently stunned speechless before finally saying, “Of course not.” 

He doesn’t sound convinced, but Aaron doesn’t want to dig regardless here. So he says a quick, “Good,” and leans in to kiss Robert as passionately as he can manage with only one good side to him. 

Robert helps him get his clothes off, maneuvering around Aaron’s bad side as gently as he can. And Aaron would tell him how much he appreciates that if he were actually feeling appreciation here. 

He doesn’t want to be taken care of. Doesn’t want to be treated with kid gloves. But he needs to have sex with Robert tonight, and so whatever Robert does or doesn’t do has to be fine with him. 

“What’s the most comfortable way for you to lay?” Robert asks once they’re naked except for Aaron’s customary top. 

Aaron looks back at him in confusion. 

“For your ribs,” Robert adds as he ghosts his fingers down Aaron’s injured side. 

“I… em… on my opposite side,” he says. And even though he said it himself, he’s still surprised when Robert helps maneuver him so that he’s lying on his good side. 

This is so fucking weird. 

After prepping him so slowly he’s got Aaron squirming on the bed, Robert finally enters him, spooned up behind him like they’re some sort of lovers in a gaudy romance book. It feels so good, though, that Aaron is fine with ignoring all of that nonsense and focusing solely on the feel of Robert’s cock pressed up his arse in all the right ways. 

Due to how slowly Robert is fucking him, Aaron has the benefit of feeling every second of his orgasm creeping up on him, his whole body on fire from the progression before he’s crying out Robert’s name and spilling into the sheets. 

They lie there for a few minutes, just holding each other. And it doesn’t take Aaron long to realize that this is the first ever time a man has spooned him. Not even Jackson got to do this, and certainly no one since. And even though he’s held Meg in his arms countless times as they’ve fallen asleep, this is so vastly different he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He wants to stay, and that surprises him more than anything. The way he wants to fall asleep here, held in Robert’s arms. There are a million reasons why he can’t, though, why staying here would only come to bad and worse. And so he lifts Robert’s arm off of his side and moves to the edge of the bed. 

“I know it’s stupid of me to ask,” Robert says, all of his usual confidence gone as Aaron looks back over his shoulder at him. “But will you maybe try and see a doctor about your ribs?” 

He wants to laugh, wants to tell Robert to go to hell, but even though he knows it’s a lie, he nods instead. Because maybe after tonight, Robert deserves it. 

Instead of just lying there like usual, watching Aaron get dressed, Robert gets up and helps him. And Aaron… fuck if he’s got no idea what to do with all of that tenderness. He understands it from Meg, has spent years learning how to tolerate it from her. But from Robert? From a guy he’s fucking? What’s he supposed to do with that? 

“Thanks,” he says as Robert zips up his hoodie before tugging Aaron in gently to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Please take care of yourself,” he whispers, and this time Aaron doesn’t have an answer for him at all, so he just leaves. Grinding his fist into his injured ribs once he’s in the hallway and hoping that’ll be enough. 

~*~

The four days between when he gets to have sex with Robert are starting to feel like so much more. Aaron’s never really been addicted to anything before, unless cutting counts as an addiction, but he imagines this is what a proper addiction might feel like. 

The desperation, the hunger, the way it consumes every thought you have until there’s nothing left but that single pinprick - Aaron has somehow become addicted to Robert Sugden. Or to the silence Robert Sugden gives him, anyway. 

It’s why he’s in a rush tonight. He always leaves Robert as his last delivery with the hope that maybe he’ll allow himself to stay longer, have a second or third go-around. He never does, of course. But tonight, Aaron is determined. And so the quicker he can get through his other clients, the more time he’ll have with Robert. 

This is why Aaron groans when he goes to navigate the large expanse of the living room and notices that the TV is on. 

He hopes that it’s Patrick or Sean, or even better that it’s Liam, because none of them will give him a passing thought. Meg’s still avoiding him, but she hasn’t once missed an opportunity to silently judge him, so he’d really rather avoid that tonight. 

It ends up being Cal, though, sitting in the middle of the sofa, his legs spread wide and his arms stretched over the back of the couch, taking up as much space here as he does in real life. 

“What are you doing home?” Aaron asks with actual curiosity, momentarily distracted from his purpose. “I thought you’d be at the club.” 

Cal tips his head back so he can look at Aaron upside down. “I decided to have the night off. Come. Join me.” He pats the cushion next to him at that in an invitation that Aaron really wants to refuse. 

“I’ve got deliveries,” he tries, motioning his head towards the front door in the hopes of escaping through it. 

Cal blinks at him a few times, the impact of the gesture lessened thanks to the whole upside down factor of it, before he says, “They can wait.”

It’s not a suggestion. Aaron’s known Cal long enough to realize that. 

Cal remains sitting in the exact same position as Aaron squeezes into the corner of the sofa closest to the front door, his whole body pulled tightly in because the last thing he’s in the mood for right now is any sort of fatherly comfort. 

Cal doesn’t seem to pick up on his body language, though. Either that or he just doesn’t care because a second later he’s dropping his arm and wrapping it around Aaron’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he nods towards the TV and says, “Top Gear, remember? It used to be your favourite show.” 

Aaron remembers. One of the wonderful peculiarities about Aaron’s brain is that he remembers _everything._

“You doing alright?” he asks next, the common Cal checkin that Aaron’s been getting since he was sixteen. 

“How’s work going? Those new clients aren’t getting handsy with you, are they?” 

Aaron forces his body not to tense as memories of Robert’s hands all over his bloody body flood his thought. 

“You make sure to tell me if they are,” Cal continues, seemingly oblivious. “Don’t want anyone touching MacFarlane property, now do we?” 

He laughs then, and Aaron manages to laugh with him even though he doesn’t feel it at all. His whole body aching from the effort it takes _not_ to react to what Cal is saying. 

“You know, Sean’s been gobbing off about the matches,” Cal continues a few moments later, like he’s perfectly happy to have a one-sided conversation with Aaron. “You two are getting pretty popular down at the club. Everyone loves watching you two go at it.”

Cal turns his head to face Aaron at that, but all Aaron can offer in response is a smile and a nod. It’s seemingly enough for Cal, though, because a second later he’s continuing. 

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you two going bare knuckle, but if you keep at it, I’m thinking of charging admission. Everybody loves a good fight, am I right?” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Aaron says through his tightened throat as he smiles again, his mind racing back to the fights, to his ribs, still not healed completely, to all the bruises on his chest, stomach and sides and to the fact that if Cal knew the truth about why Aaron was doing it, he probably wouldn’t want to charge admission. 

He doesn’t know, though. He’ll _never_ know, if Aaron can help it. And so all Aaron does is play along as Top Gear flashes in the background, counting down the seconds until he can leave. Because he’s addicted, remember? And his next fix is only a few hours away. 

~*~

For the first time ever, Aaron is early. Even with his half hour Cal detour, he rushed through his other deliveries fast enough that he manages to make it to Robert’s flat with almost forty-five minutes to spare. A new record n’all. 

He’s so desperate by the time he gets to Robert’s door, though, that he practically tears the buttons off of Robert’s paisley (paisley?) shirt before he even steps foot over the threshold. 

“Easy there, sailor,” Robert tries to soothe once they’re behind closed doors. But Aaron doesn’t want to go easy tonight. He wants to wrench everything that Robert has to give from his body, bury himself in the only sensations that manage to give him peace these days until there’s nothing left of him but the quiet. 

It doesn’t take long for Robert to get with the program. They haven’t even made it to Robert’s room yet and Robert’s hands are squeezing his arse, dragging Aaron’s body over his own as he tries to hump Aaron while still walking backwards towards his room. 

It’s fucking _glorious_. 

They’re just outside of Robert’s room when Robert goes to take Aaron’s jumper off. But Aaron is so wrapped up in the way Robert’s lips feel against the soft skin just beneath his jaw that he doesn’t notice Robert has accidentally grabbed the hem of his t-shirt as well until both tops are off his body. 

The air feels cold on his skin, colder than is physically possible when he realizes Robert has pulled his head back, that Robert is looking down now, that Robert is seeing...

They’re both frozen for what feels like ages, neither one of them breathing let alone speaking as Robert continues to stare at the mass of bruises and scars littering Aaron’s body. 

He was never supposed to see them. 

He was _never supposed to see them._

Aaron goes to grab for his shirts eventually, still clasped in Robert’s hand. But Robert’s grip is too tight as the fingers of his other hand trace carefully over some of the larger scars on Aaron’s stomach. 

Robert snaps out of it eventually, whatever kind of daze was on his face washing away as he looks up at Aaron, hands back his tops, and says a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Aaron asks bitterly as he slips back into his jumper. “You didn’t do this.” 

“No, I mean I’m sorry for…” He pauses, tips his head towards the t-shirt still clutched in Aaron’s fist. “It’s none of my business.”

“Too right it isn’t,” Aaron replies, some of the fight leaving his voice as he hugs his arms around his stomach and fights to keep the tears from leaving his eyes. 

“Aaron,” Robert says softly - so fucking _softly_ \- as he reaches out to… do what? Take Aaron’s hand? Hold him in his arms? 

Aaron wants none of that, so he backs out of Robert’s reach and says, “This is your chance,” because it is. 

He always knew this was coming, he just didn’t know it would come so soon. 

Robert’s face crumples in confusion. “To do what?” 

Aaron snorts at his deliberate lack of understanding. “To run a mile.” 

The confusion only deepens. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m a freak?” Aaron bites out. 

But instead of agreeing like anyone else would, Robert just reaches out for him again, his voice so soothing it makes Aaron sick as he says, “Hey, I never said that. You’re not a freak, Aaron. Everyone… everyone has scars.”

“Robert, you know what these are,” Aaron says shakily as he allows Robert’s hand to stay where it is, resting gently on his forearm, still wrapped over his stomach like he can hide his scars from Robert’s memory if he just holds on tight enough. 

“Yes, I do. And I also know that they’re your business, not mine. And that you must… have your reasons,” he says, practically whispering the last bit as he grips his hand a little tighter around Aaron’s forearm. 

He’s quiet for a long moment in which Aaron can only hold his breath before he says, “Do you… do you want to tell me about it?” 

Normally, Aaron would laugh in the face of that kind of care. But the way he says it is so soft, so earnest, so fucking _willing_ that Aaron can’t help but be honest as well. 

“Is it okay if I say no?” he asks, a tremor in his voice that can’t be helped as a single tear escapes down his cheek. 

“Of course it’s okay,” Robert breathes out, both of his hands moving immediately to Aaron’s face, his thumb catching the tear before it can slip off his chin. “Just know I’m here, alright? I know this… us… it’s not conventional. But I’d like to think that we’re… mates?” he asks, actually asks like he’s waiting for an answer. 

So Aaron nods, repeats, “Mates,” because he feels like he should, and watches the way Robert’s entire expression softens at the statement. 

“So I’m here. Like a mate. Because that’s what mates do for their other mates.” 

“And you’re not gonna stop seeing me?” Aaron asks, hating how vulnerable he sounds but needing the answer, needing to know he’s not gonna lose this just by being him. 

Robert actually scoffs at that. “Why? Because you’ve got some scars on your stomach? I’d have to be right stupid to throw away all this,” he says, trailing his eyes up and down Aaron’s body in a way that is so _Robert_ it makes a laugh almost bubble out of Aaron’s mouth. 

“To throw away _you_ ,” he continues, “on account of a couple of scars.”

Aaron nods, because despite his insecurities, despite how he wants to ask over and over again if Robert means it, he doesn’t want to look like any more of a freak tonight, and so nodding will have to do. 

“And we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to,” Robert adds. “If you’re too… well, if you don’t want to.” 

A cold rush presses through Aaron’s veins at Robert’s words, one too much like fear to be called anything else. 

“You don’t want to?” he asks, hating himself for asking the question but needing the answer. 

Robert tips his head, drags his hands down to Aaron’s neck and says, “Aaron, I always want to. But if you don’t feel-”

Aaron kisses him then, because Aaron does _feel_. Aaron needs this, needs what only Robert seems to be able to give him. And if Robert really still wants him, then Aaron wants Robert to have him, simple as that. 

This time Aaron takes his jumper off. Because Robert’s already seen everything, right, so what’s the point in hiding? It feels liberating, almost, not having to cover that part of himself up. And even though he’s not sure if he trusts Robert when he says he wants to stay, all he really ever has is tonight anyway. And tonight, Aaron gets to feel Robert’s lips on his stomach for the first time ever. 

It’s borderline life-changing is what it is. 

Robert takes everything slow, something that usually bothers Aaron. For some reason, though, tonight it seems to be exactly what he needs. Just lying flat on his back with Robert on top of him, riding him, doing all the work as Aaron shuts his eyes and _feels_. 

The combination of _nothing_ and _everything_ is flaming intoxicating. 

When he comes, buried deep inside of Robert, he feels something crack inside of him. Like a locked drawer, snapping open. And he’s got no flipping clue what that means - what _any of this_ means - but he does know that he’s never felt so good, so light, so _free_ in his entire life. 

It’ll be gone by the time he leaves Robert’s flat, he knows this. And maybe he’ll not be able to get back to this point again. But right now, for this moment, Aaron actually feels alive. And it makes him realize that for the last eighteen years of his life, he’s been nothing but a walking fucking corpse. 


	9. Howlin' For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all needed a little bit of light in the darkness. Thank you, Robert, for being you. 

Robert’s had a lot to unpack in the last four days. 

First, there was the whole fiance thing. Which, to be honest, he’s still trying to get his head around. 

He said he was okay with it, and he is… he thinks. Objectively, anyway. It’s not his business who Aaron fucks in his spare time. Or… well… technically Robert is probably the one he fucks in his spare time. 

But either way, he’s got no right or desire to put a stamp on Aaron and say _mine_ because he’s not Robert’s. He never was. And that’s just the way Robert wants it. 

He still wonders about this fiance, though. Because… well… _Aaron has a fiance_. There’s some other bloke out there that he’s sleeping with both literally and figuratively. Like, he goes to sleep in a bed at night with him. He stays after sex, probably talks about his day or something, and really, Robert just can’t picture it. Not his Aaron. 

Well… not _his_. 

He wonders what the guy looks like, though. He tried to google it once… or ten… maybe fifteen times… or so. But there’s seemingly no such person as Aaron MacFarlane in existence, much less a result fitting _Aaron+MacFarlane+fiance+totally+not+fit._ And if Aaron’s got a different surname, Robert doesn’t know it. 

There’s no way he’s fitter than Robert, this fiance. Or as good in bed, because if he were, why would Aaron be straying? And why does Robert even care in the first place? Especially when there are other, more important things to be concerned with. Like the scars and bruises littering Aaron’s body. 

He already knew about the bruises thanks to accidentally seeing Aaron sort of topless the other night, but the clear self-harm scars put things in a different light. A dark, painful, probably danger-sign red light. 

That’s not his business either. Robert likes Aaron’s body. It was the main deciding factor in starting this whole thing up in the first place. Scars or not, his body is still a bloody work of art. And besides, he’s probably already got enough people worrying about him (like his fiance). He doesn’t need Robert annoyingly fretting over him. So anything else is really beyond the realm of Robert’s purview. 

Aaron is still fit. Aaron’s fiance probably isn’t. So really, there’s just one conclusion to take from all of this anyway: 

Only an hour or two every four days with Aaron is just plain ridiculous. 

~*~

Aaron is getting dressed, fully because now that Robert’s seen his scars he’s let go of the white or black t-shirt he always wore prior. 

It feels like a victory, like peeling another layer back. And Robert is thinking of the victory of just a few minutes ago - of Aaron, shouting out his name as he came so hard his back was likely close to snapping - as he idly watches Aaron get dressed, thinking what a shame it is to cover up something so remarkable. 

He’s stroking himself too as he watches, because he’s him, and that’ll never change. 

“I want to fuck you again,” Robert says matter-of-factly as he tips his head and watches Aaron bend over to pick up his jeans, tight black cotton stretched over the most perfect arse Robert has ever seen. 

“Huh?” is Aaron’s reply, as if he didn’t hear what Robert said. 

Robert crawls to the end of the bed, twists his legs around so he’s sitting on the edge and takes Aaron’s jeans out of his hand, tossing them across the room. 

“I said,” he says before pressing a wet kiss to the patch of hair just below Aaron’s belly button. “I want,” he continues, kissing even further down, tugging Aaron’s boxers out of the way so he can eventually press a kiss to the base of Aaron’s cock and say, “to fuck you again.” 

Aaron shudders, his hands reaching out to fist in Robert’s hair - something new he’s been doing lately, like the increased comfort between them has brought on bolder habits. 

“I have… have work,” he stammers, but Robert just hums and takes Aaron’s cock in his mouth, determined to suck until he’s good and hard again. 

He pushes Aaron’s boxers further down his legs, smiles at the way Aaron immediately shuffles them to his ankles and steps out of them. 

“I thought you said you wanted to fuck me again,” Aaron says, already breathless in a way that makes Robert’s cock ache with pride. 

Instead of responding, he just hums again before reaching behind Aaron and slipping two fingers into his still-slick arsehole. 

Aaron twists his fingers so tightly in Robert’s hair that it hurts, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The kind that spurs Robert on as he continues to work Aaron from both ends. 

When his fingers find Aaron’s prostate, Aaron thrusts so hard into Robert’s mouth he practically chokes. The little, “Sorry,” Aaron mutters, though, is so bloody adorable that he slaps Aaron’s ass with his free hand in a clear command to do it some more. 

He loves it when Aaron fucks his mouth, loves knowing that he can get Aaron off with just this, can bring him the kind of pleasure that makes him practically break down at Robert’s feet using just his mouth. 

_Let’s see your fiance do that_ , he thinks triumphantly as Aaron begins to thrust in earnest. Each one short but oh so welcome as Robert reaches down and begins to stroke himself in time to the beat Aaron is creating. 

Robert is such a good multitasker that they both come at almost the exact same moment, their bodies completely in sync as Aaron cries out Robert’s name once again and Robert swallows everything Aaron has to offer. And even though it was only one more orgasm and an extra twenty minutes tops, Robert still feels victorious when Aaron leaves that night. 

Because for the first time, Aaron stayed. 

~*~

Of course since it happened once, Robert is determined to make it happen again. Which is why he’s already got the telly turned on the next time Aaron shows up. 

Aaron makes a dive for him as soon as he’s through the door, but Robert moves deftly out of the way, shoving his hands as deep into his pockets as they’ll go to keep himself from pulling Aaron in the way every inch of his body is crying out to do. 

If he were just a fraction less attractive, things would be so much easier. 

Aaron looks shaken for a second, his expression so worried it threatens to cause Robert to have actual _feelings_ , and so he saves them both the bother and says, “Want to watch the game?” 

Aaron does that face that makes him look like a grumpy puppy dog. “What game?” 

Oh. Robert should’ve probably checked that. 

“This one!” he says, using his brightest voice possible to cover up the fact that he’s got no clue what game - or what game _replay_ , he should say - is currently flashing across his pristine, 70-inch screen that usually only plays superhero movies and scifi, not that he’ll ever tell Aaron that. 

He points to said television, though, like a proud father introducing his new sprog. And Aaron looks at it for a second or two, his face completely blank whilst he does it until he turns the same look back on Robert. 

“I thought we could watch it like mates,” Robert explains as the sound of a falling bomb starts to screech in his ears. “That’s what we said we were, right? Mates?” 

Aaron nods, which might as well be a declaration of undying love for how much it lifts Robert’s spirits. 

“Great! Then why don’t we watch a little footie, mate.”

He punches Aaron lightly in the arm at that, but all he gets in return is another unimpressed look. 

“Fancy a beer?” Robert asks when Aaron finally settles into his sofa. 

“Em, sure,” he replies, still clearly uncertain about what’s going on here. Which really, it’s not that difficult to comprehend. 

How hard is it to grasp two mates sitting on a sofa, drinking beer and watching footie at three in the morning before they fuck each other senseless? Simple, right? 

They start out on opposite ends of the sofa, but it seems like within minutes Aaron is in the middle, and within minutes more he’s reaching across Robert to set his beer bottle down on the end table next to Robert’s seat, leaning bodily over Robert in the process.

Robert stares at Aaron’s face for a few seconds, the shadows from the telly dancing over his skin as his eyes bore into Robert’s very soul before Aaron asks, completely deadpan, “Reckon it’s okay if we stop watching the game now?” 

He runs his hand up Robert’s thigh at that, just shy of where Robert wants it to be. And so all Robert can do in reply is gulp and nod. 

Being mates is overrated anyway. 

They make out on the sofa like teenagers for a long while, the television still casting blues around the room. And Robert isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this young before, even when he was actually _young_. Because Aaron just does something to him, something he couldn’t even begin to explain and something he wants to hold onto for as long as possible. 

“Should we take this to my room?” Robert asks as Aaron nibbles at his collarbone. 

Aaron pauses long enough to say a simple, “No,” that does nothing to help the way Robert is straining against his trousers. 

“I don’t know about you, but I, _ah_ ,” Robert hisses, pausing what he was saying as Aaron moves to the area behind his ear. “I’m going to need to get into you sometime soon or I might just explode.” 

Aaron pops his head up, smiling like the Cheshire Flipping Cat, and says, “Bring the stuff out here. I wanna ride you on the sofa. Is that okay?”

_Is that okay?_

Robert laughs, a startled bubble of it before saying, “Yeah, Aaron, I think that would be okay.” 

He’s never moved from his couch to his room and back so fast in his entire time living here. 

Aaron is already naked by the time Robert returns because he’s nothing if not efficient, and Robert takes a second to stare at him, dumbfounded, as the footie game continues to play silently behind him. 

He’s beautiful. Every single part of him is beautiful. 

He preps Aaron as slowly as either one of them can stand, making sure to take extra care to open him up so that there’s no chance of hurting him more than he’s already hurt himself. The new bruises catching Robert’s eye as he reaches behind Aaron and scissors his fingers as wide as they’ll go. 

He’s surprised by how gutted he is by the sight of them, more than he was the first time even, or the second, or the third. But he guesses they’re just literally put out in a new light tonight, fresh and raw in a way that makes Robert want to ask so much he can hardly stand it. 

He won’t, though. He _can’t._ If Aaron wants to come to him, he’ll come to him. And if he doesn’t?

Well, then Robert will just do what he’s doing now. He’ll hold Aaron as close to his body as possible while Aaron rides him into the sofa cushions. He’ll press his mouth to a blank space of skin over Aaron’s ribs. He’ll bite and suck and lick until he leaves his own mark there, something that reminds Aaron of pleasure and not pain when he looks at himself. 

He’ll do everything in his power to make Aaron forget the things he so clearly doesn’t want to speak of, and he’ll count himself lucky for the opportunity. 

They’re twisted on the sofa after, a blanket used to clean Aaron off and the condom simply discarded on the floor as Robert rests his head on Aaron’s chest and tries to remember what it was like to breathe without wanting to speak Aaron’s name. 

It’s a rare moment, this. Lying here, just basking. And Robert knows it’ll be over soon, sooner than he wants, so he decides to take whatever he can get from it. 

“So, you’ve got a fiance,” he says, just trying to have a normal, non-invasive conversation _he swears_ , like mates do. “What’s he like?” 

Aaron tugs lightly on Robert’s hair. “You really wanna talk about my fiance after we’ve just had sex?” 

Robert shrugs, because no, he doesn’t really want to talk about this right now. But he wants to talk about it _at some point_ , and it seems like the only time Aaron will sit still is if he’s coming down from an orgasm. 

“Well, first off, it’s not a he, it’s a she. And her name is Meg.” 

“A woman?” Robert asks incredulously as he leans up so he can see the look on Aaron’s face, see if he’s just winding him up. 

He’s completely serious, though, calm, cool, and collected as he nods at Robert like he just told him the sky was blue, not that Aaron-I-swore-he-was-gay is marrying a woman. 

“So you’re bi then?” 

It’s Aaron’s turn to shrug, which is oh so helpful. 

“Are you… are you out?” 

Something dark washes across Aaron’s face, which means Robert doesn’t even need his head shake a second later to tell him that Aaron is not, in fact, out. 

“So that’s why you don’t want anyone to know about us,” Robert says, part question, part answer.

“Yeah, and that one still stands, alright?” he replies sort of forcefully, which is really not necessary. Robert doesn’t tell secrets, especially ones that aren’t his own. 

“You’re safe with me,” he says definitively. And he wanted to say _your_ **_secret_ ** _is safe with me_ , but that’s what came out and so that’s what he’s going to have to live with. 

Aaron softens a little at the declaration, his eyes going glassy before he clears his throat and wrenches himself back to the here and now. 

“So why’d you and your missus split up?” he asks. 

“How did you know I was married?” 

Aaron rolls his eyes and knocks his fist lightly on Robert’s head. “Background check, remember?”

“Right,” Robert says, crossing his arms over Aaron’s chest so he can get more comfortable, rest his head on his arms and look up into a pair of blue eyes that never cease to stun him when he’s allowed to really _look_. 

“Well, I cheated on her,” he starts, gauging Aaron’s reaction and feeling pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t so much as blink. 

“With her sister,” he adds. 

Still, no reaction. 

“And her PA. And… and my PA. And the waiter at our favourite restaurant, and-”

Aaron reaches up to slap a hand over Robert’s mouth. 

“I get it. You’re a harlot. But maybe this will go quicker if you just list the people you _didn’t_ have an affair with, yeah?”

He’s smiling at Robert. Robert just told him that he cheated on his wife with no fewer than four people and Aaron is actually _smiling_ at him. Wonders never flipping cease. 

He licks Aaron’s palm, causing him to scrunch his face up in disgust as he pulls his hand away and wipes it on Robert’s sofa, which is just silly given what they were doing ten minutes ago. Robert’s cock was _literally_ up Aaron’s arse, Aaron’s cum is still on Robert’s favourite blanket. A little spit on one’s palm is hardly anything to get worked up about. 

“I guess it should make you comfortable, then, being in an affair with me,” Aaron says in this way that just completely crushes Robert’s insides like he just got run over by a lorry. 

“Yeah,” Robert says as he turns his face so Aaron can’t see the lie written all over it, settling his cheek back on Aaron’s chest and wrapping his arms around Aaron’s waist as if that might get him to stay. 

It doesn’t. He’s dressed and gone five minutes later. But at least Robert can chalk up another victory here: 

They actually had a real conversation. 

~*~

“Hi, you’ve reached Robert J. Sugden. Please leave a message after the beep. _Beep_.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Vic’s unimpressed voice says, “I know it’s not your voice message, Rob. I’ve got that message memorized from the eight hundred times I’ve called you in the last month.” 

“Maybe I reset my message,” he says with a smile on his face that he knows will likely be gone by the end of this conversation, given how long he’s been avoiding his sister. 

“Maybe you’re the worst brother ever in existence,” she shoots back. 

“Now Vic, that’s not fair. Andy’s _far_ worse than I am. I mean, he smells like farm animals and dirt literally every waking minute of his life. The sheer attack on your senses every time you see him has to put him higher on the list than me.” 

“Ha, Ha, I’ll tell him you said that,” she says, faux annoyed even though Robert can hear the mirth in her voice. 

“Funny of you to assume that I haven’t already said that to his face on multiple occasions.” 

“Ugh, why are you such a prat?” 

“I think the real question is: Why do you put up with me? No one asked you to call me eight hundred times, Vic.”

She sighs, defeated, but her voice is considerably perked up when she says a second later, “Speaking of, where have you been this past month? I thought you were dead in a ditch.” 

Robert shrugs even though she can’t see it. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Doing what?” 

He thinks _doing_ **_who_ ** _more like_. But instead of clueing his sister in any way into the fact that he has a sort of _thing_ going on with an actual _person_ whose last name he still doesn’t know, he says the standard, “You know, work,” and leaves it at that. 

Vic actually growls at him. It sounds hilarious coming from her. Like a baby lion. 

“Well, then, when are you coming back for another visit. A _proper_ one?” 

“Vic, I don’t have time,” he says as the word _never_ circles through his head. As in _I’m never coming back if I can help it, and you can’t make me_. 

“Nope. None of that. Either you’ve got the time or you’ve got a good excuse. I won’t take anything in the middle.” 

_Why the flaming hell did I answer the phone_ , he wonders. He’d been doing an expert job of dodging her calls in the weeks since the last visit. But he was in a good mood today, riding off the high of his first proper conversation with Aaron last night. And now he’s stuck with this. 

He can’t really tell her he doesn’t want to leave because he’s afraid he’ll miss a possible interaction with his local bisexual drug dealer, so he fobs her off with an, “I’ll come sometime next month,” and hopes that works. 

“Three weeks, Sugden,” she says sternly. “You got three weeks.” 

And that… well, that’s just Vic all over, innit? 

~*~

When Clive tells him the next day at work that he wants to go out “sharking” that night, Robert grins tightly and says yes. When Clive texts him later to say that he wants to “hit up” Flash, Robert has a mini meltdown. 

Logically, he knows that Aaron isn’t working at the club anymore. Also logically, he knows that none of Aaron’s family or co-workers or whatever they’re called know what he looks like, except maybe whoever did the background check obviously. 

Illogically, he’s terrified of setting foot in that club again. 

It’s just as tacky and over-crowded as it was the first time he came, and Clive is dressed to match in a shiny suit (does he even look in a mirror ever?) and even shinier shoes. 

Fashion faux pas aside, Clive is also downing scotches like they’re suddenly going to dry up, which could either be a very good thing or a very bad one. 

Robert is very likely going to be sick by the time this night is out for one reason or another. 

They’re there a few hours before Robert gets up the courage to leave their table on the edge of the dance floor, currently occupied by him, Clive, and some incredibly high woman Clive managed to pick out of the crowd like the weak one in the herd. 

He needs a break, though. Needs to find a quiet place where he can splash some cold water on his face and breathe, which is why he heads straight for the bogs. 

Instead of two large ones, the place has eight small private rooms, and as Robert closes and locks the door on his, he can’t help but wonder how many people have had sex in this room. 

The entire place is an invitation to debauchery all the way down to the flashing fluorescent light overhead that somehow manages to give off the vibe of _I’m going to get fucked_ and _I am so fucked_ at the same exact time. 

The real guess would be how many people have been _murdered_ in here. 

He takes a solid minute to stare at his reflection, the dark black button up shirt that reminds him of Aaron, the hair floppy from sweat in a way that reminds him of sex with Aaron, and the dark circles under his eyes courtesy of, you guessed it, Aaron, Aaron, _Aaron_. 

This isn’t Robert. He doesn’t _do this_. Doesn’t let people get under his skin like this, burrow down and settle in. And yet here he is, in a flipping _building_ that is all about Aaron Still-Don’t-Know-His-Last-Name. 

As soon as he opens the door to leave, he’s shoved back into the room, the sound of the lock clicking before he even registers that he’s no longer alone. And his mind flits back to the whole _murder_ conundrum when, as if he can actually conjure up someone with merely his thoughts, he realizes that _Aaron_ is the person standing in front of him. 

He’s seething. 

Oh great. 

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” Robert gasps. “What are you doing here?” he asks because it’s a fair question and he would like to know the answer. 

“What am _I_ doing here?” Aaron spits back. “I have business here. What the hell are _you_ doing here?” 

“I’m here with a mate,” Robert responds immediately because he’s got a feeling Aaron isn’t in the mood to wait right now. “And before you kick off, it was his idea to come here, not mine. And I couldn’t exactly say no without looking suspicious, now could I?” 

“Suspicious to who?” Aaron asks, his face still contorted with rage. “Your new boyfriend? What, tired of the doc already?”

What Robert wants to say is _what are you talking about_. Or even better, _what the hell business is that of yours._ But what he _actually_ says is, “Clive isn’t my boyfriend. And neither is Grayson.” 

And what he actually _thinks_ is _you are_ , as in _you are my boyfriend_. But that is so far out of the realm of possibility right now that he’s glad he’s able to bite his tongue. 

“Besides,” Robert continues, because really, fuck Aaron very much right now. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, mister _I have a secret fiance_. What do you have to say about that, huh?” 

Now Robert is pissed. He thinks. He can’t really tell because the fluorescent light is still flickering and the walls are painted red and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be murdered in here tonight but he’s _also_ pretty sure he wouldn’t mind the other outcome and Aaron is just too fucking fit for his own good and Robert is just… _angry._

So when Aaron says, “I don’t wanna talk about that,” Robert shoots back immediately with a bitter, “Well what do you want to talk about?” Because this whole thing is stupid, isn’t it? 

They’re being stupid. 

And Aaron is, not surprisingly, the first one to use his brain again, as he says a quick, “Maybe I don’t wanna talk at all,” before closing the three-step gap between them and veritably _shoving_ his mouth into Robert’s. 

This! This was what he wanted. It all makes sense now. 

Aaron walks him back into the wall, his lips still pressed into Robert’s, his hands fumbling at Robert’s belt. And it only takes about a second and a half for Robert to realize he should be helping as his back finally collides with the blood red wall on the far side of the claustrophobic little room. 

This isn’t going to be pretty. It won’t be slow, it won’t have even the slightest bit of finesse, and it’ll likely be over practically before it’s begun, but Robert feels dizzy from the rush of adrenaline through his body and all he wants is to feel Aaron against him in whatever way is possible. 

They finally get their trousers shoved down around their thighs, complete with boxers, and nothing has ever felt as right as the way his hand fits around both of their cocks as they slide against each other, already slick with precum. 

He thrusts forward, Aaron thrusts back, and they just continue to rock like that, fucking back and forth through Robert’s fingers as their lips and tongues find each other in disconnect. Everything pulsing to the beat of the nearly burned out light over their heads as Robert just struggles to stay on his feet. 

They’ve never been together like this. Aside from that night in that grotty warehouse the last time Robert visited the club, everything has been very controlled. The times set by Aaron, the length of stay set by Aaron. Everything just regimented and _controlled_ , but this? 

This is an erratic pulse in a vein that’s on fire. This is skin sizzling like pavement on a blistering day. This is flipping _drowning,_ and if this is what it’s like to be caught in an undertow, Robert needs the riptide more than he can even articulate. 

It’s why he pulls his mouth away from Aaron’s, why he blurts out the words, “I want your mobile number,” because _only an hour or two every four days with Aaron is just plain ridiculous._

“What?” Aaron asks, his pupils blown wide and his eyes unfocused as he tries to look into Robert’s eyes. 

“I want,” Robert says, reaching down with both hands and just holding them steady, staving off their release because he wants Aaron to listen to him right now. 

“I want your mobile number,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss Aaron hard on the lips. “I want you to stay for longer than just a single fuck when you come to my flat.” He kisses him again. “And I want to see you more than two times every eight days.”

He dives in and kisses him properly again, swirling his tongue around Aaron’s and loving the way Aaron whimpers into his mouth as he tries to thrust into the barricade Robert has created. 

“ _Robert_ ,” he whines, this time trying to move Robert’s hands with his own. But Robert isn’t budging. Not on this. Not right now. 

He needs _more_ , and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to get it. 

“You heard what… what I said,” Robert stammers around the way his cock is throbbing, his body just as desperate for release as Aaron’s. 

Aaron growls, deep from the pit of his gut, and Robert can’t think of a time in his life when he was more turned on than right flipping now. 

“Say it,” Robert urges, letting his hands slide just a fraction, just enough to remind Aaron of what’s at stake here. 

“What is this? A shakedown?” Aaron asks, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore, he just sounds like the physical representation of the word _need_ , and so Robert says a quick, “Yes,” because he needs this to move along as much as Aaron does. 

“Fine,” Aaron bites out before biting down on Robert’s bottom lip, just shy of painful. “We’ll fuck more. More times. More days. Just… _get the fuck on with it_.” 

“And the phone?” Robert asks, his voice sounding about as pitiful as it’s ever sounded as he twists his hands in a way that makes Aaron’s knees buckle. 

“Yes, the phone,” Aaron replies, catching himself before he falls, and that’s all Robert needed to hear. 

He works them fast, works them hard, their kisses nothing more than breathing into each other’s mouths right now, moaning out swear words before they come all over each other before collapsing against the wall in a sweaty, spent heap. 

Aaron is the first to move, but only to reach out and grab some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall beside them to clean them up, ever the gentlemen. And then, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out a mobile phone Robert has never seen before. 

It’s _red_. Just like the room. 

“Here,” Aaron says, typing in the passcode and handing the phone to Robert. “Send yourself a message.” 

And even though Aaron said he’d do it, Robert never really let himself believe that Aaron would _do it_. 

Robert does as he’s told, handing the phone back as his own buzzes in his back pocket. And he really can’t contain the gigantic smile on his face as Aaron says, “If you start sending me cat memes, I will have you killed.” 

Robert laughs. Giddily. Like a child. His eyes so wide they might pop out of his face as he pulls Aaron in by the front of his shirt and kisses them both senseless. 

Aaron looks stunned when Robert lets go, which is a really good look on him. And then he’s heading for the door to leave. 

“Give it five minutes before you follow me out,” Aaron says over his shoulder, but before he can unlock the door and disappear once again, Robert shouts out one last question: 

“What’s your last name?” 

Aaron turns around then, looks at Robert like he just asked him for his bank account number, his eyebrows furrowed in the way Robert has learned to love. 

“For my phone contacts,” Robert spits out because Aaron looks like a computer in need of a reboot. 

Aaron nods slowly, like he’s not really sure whether he should believe Robert or not. But he still says, “Livesy,” which is another point in Robert’s win column. 

“Well, have a good night, Aaron Livesy,” Robert says, completely formally like he’s someone’s butler. And he almost - _very nearly_ \- bows for effect. 

“You’re such a fucking nerd,” Aaron mumbles in response, but he doesn’t say it bitterly. He sounds almost… fond. And Robert will take that kind of insult any day of the week. As long as it’s coming from Aaron flipping _Livesy._

Looks like he’s got something to google when he gets home. 


	10. Things Ain’t Like They Used to Be

Aaron doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t mean physically, obviously. He’s had the steps to this place memorized for years. It’s more of a philosophical thing or whatever. 

A handjob. That’s what did it in the end. A handjob that wasn’t even that great…

Okay, it was _really_ great. But that was probably only because he was stupid enough to take his cock out in one of the club’s bogs. Stupid enough to let Robert touch him when Cal was just a few dozen meters away. 

It was a rush, fueled by the danger of their surroundings, and it was fucking _incredible._

“Remember this place?” Aaron asks as he trails his eyes around the warehouse that’s served a number of functions for him over the course of his life, most recently as a meeting place for him and Emile and now, as his and Robert’s secret hideaway. 

“Yeah, I gave you a blow job right there against that pillar,” Robert replies. And even though Aaron isn’t looking at his face right now, he can still hear the cocky smirk plain as day. 

What a pillock. 

“Charming,” Aaron says, his voice bored even though his body is alight the way it always is when he’s this close to Robert. All of his nerve endings scraped raw as his bones and muscles literally strain so hard to get closer he’s practically tipping over. 

“There’s an office in the back.” He turns to Robert, shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “It’s got a sofa.” 

Robert stares at him for a second, studying him, before saying almost as if he’s appalled, “Wait, you’re not actually serious are you?” 

Aaron shrugs again. “What?” 

“You want to start hooking up _here_. In a derelict warehouse in the middle of one of the seediest parts of the city.” 

“You wanted to meet up more,” Aaron says almost shyly, even though he’d never admit to feeling that way. His eyes cast down now, his feet kicking at some loose concrete beneath him. 

“Yeah, but I was thinking at my flat. You know, where there’s heat. And a bed. And almost zero chance of the roof caving in on us.” 

Aaron looks Robert dead in the eye and steels his voice, because if there’s one thing Robert needs to understand, it’s this: “If anyone sees me going into your flat off the books, we’re done for.” And he doesn’t just mean they won’t be having sex anymore. 

If Cal doesn’t kill him, Liam will. 

“Then I’ll just order more often,” Robert says all brightly like he just solved the mystery of the flipping universe. And that’s so like Robert, not to get the point, isn’t it? 

Aaron wants to be angry with him. He can’t seem to be, though. Probably because his lack of cynicism reminds him of Meg, generally his favourite person in the world. But right now, it’s a roadblock that Aaron really needs to break down.

“You’re already getting the smallest delivery possible. Anything else is strictly pickup.”

Robert stares at him for a few long seconds, the cogs in his brain turning, always trying to make the sale before he says, “So you _are_ serious.” 

Aaron smiles. “Like I said. There’s a sofa.” 

Robert is clearly not as impressed with the sofa as Aaron always has been. It’s large, taking up almost a third of the room, made of now cracked brown leather with cushions that have actually remained soft over the years. 

He used to wonder why no one took it when they moved out of the facility, but then again it is pretty huge. He’s not even sure how somebody got it into the office, much less how they’d get it back out again. 

Robert had scoffed at it when he’d seen it, showing how little he thought of it. But thankfully what Robert _is_ impressed by is the way Aaron’s lips are skimming over his neck, just enough pressure to drive him mad. 

He has to stand on his tiptoes to get at Robert from behind, but it’s worth it given the way that Robert is leaning back into him like he just wants to melt right where he stands. 

“Don’t you… h-have work to… to do?” Robert manages to stammer out, his hands reaching back to grab Aaron’s hips, hold him even closer to his body. 

“Well I didn’t meet you here just to give you a bloody tour,” Aaron replies before biting down on Robert’s earlobe, causing Robert to shiver from head to toe. “Besides… think I can spare a half hour.” 

Robert turns around abruptly, wrapping his arms around Aaron’s waist and yanking him in until there’s barely even air between them before saying, “Might need more than a half hour.” 

Now _that’s_ the kind of reaction Aaron was hoping for. 

They don’t have sex because neither of them had the foresight to bring condoms or lube and apparently, that’s now a thing that Aaron cares about. 

Wonders never cease, right? 

They can’t have sex, but they do have a lot of fun, leaving both of them naked, sweaty and heaving by the time they finally find their release. 

Aaron is lying flat on the couch with Robert flopped all over him, his left arm hooked around Aaron’s middle, his right one draped off the side of the sofa, and his head pillowed on Aaron’s chest. 

He remembers, back when this thing began, how much he wanted to run his fingers through Robert’s hair, take the perfection of it and raze it to the ground. And that’s where his mind is drifting as he cards his fingers through sweat-damp, blond strands. How he’s allowed to do this as much as he wants now. 

It’s surreal, is what it is. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that when Robert asks, “So how did you find this place?” Aaron doesn’t even have time to think up a lie before the truth is just spilling from his mouth. 

“I used to sleep here a lot when I was a kid,” he says, his blood running instantly cold with the admission. 

Why the fuck did he just say that? 

Robert must be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest, must be able to feel the way his body is tensing more and more by the second. But all he does is grip Aaron tighter, wrapping both of his arms around him now, holding him so close Aaron feels like he’s gonna tear apart at every seam if he doesn’t _move._

“Please don’t go,” Robert says quietly, his lips pressed to Aaron’s ribs. 

But Aaron has to go, has to leave before Robert sees the fissures lining his skin. So he says through a throat almost too tight to speak, “I’ve got to be getting back to work,” because it’s true, but also because it _isn’t._

He’s never gotten dressed so fast in his entire life. 

~*~

_Me at work today_ , the first text says. 

It’s followed by a picture of a dog typing at a laptop with the caption: “I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

_It’s not a cat._

_Are you still going to kill me?_

_Winky face._

Robert actually types out the last one, the words “winky face” staring back at him where an emoji should be. And Aaron can’t tell which one would’ve wound him up the most. 

Also? Of course Robert is a multi-texter. 

It’s the next day at breakfast, and it’s the first time Robert has texted him since he gave him his number a few days ago. Even when Aaron had texted to meet at the warehouse yesterday, Robert had shown great restraint in not texting back at all. 

Now, some sort of seal seems to have been opened, and Aaron’s got a feeling he’s gonna regret giving Robert his mobile number sooner rather than later. 

“What are you smiling at?” a voice asks a second later, shaking Aaron out of his thoughts. And before he knows what’s happening, Liam is grabbing Aaron’s phone right out of his hand. 

“Got yourself a new girl?” Liam all but snarls. He doesn’t even get the chance to glance at Aaron’s phone, though, because Aaron is on his feet and pinning Liam to the wall within moments. 

He presses his forearm into Liam’s chest, uses his knee to leverage him further before yanking his phone back from Liam’s hand, his messages safe behind a pitch black screen. 

“Touch my stuff again, and you’ll regret it,” Aaron growls, and all that he can see on Liam’s face is pure hatred. He doesn’t care, though. He’s _never_ cared what Liam’s thought of him. So he just lets Liam go and storms out of the kitchen, his breakfast completely forgotten. 

That was too close. That was _way_ too close. 

~*~

He’s still fuming from all of thirty seconds he had to deal with Liam this morning, which would normally be good on the day of a fight. He’s still got Robert swirling through his head, though - his quiet voice, asking him not to go, the texts, trying to act like they’re normal mates - that the voices seem louder than ever. 

_You don’t deserve this_ , they say. _You’re filthy, you’re damaged, you’re wrong._ And so all Aaron wants right now is for those words to be beaten clear from his head. 

It’s why his heart sinks when he sees Meg standing by the side of the ring, her eyes still angry the same way they’ve been since their most recent fight started. 

He walks over to her quickly, grabbing her elbow and dragging her to a relatively empty part of the gym, which is hard, given how many people are packed in there this morning. 

Cal was right. He really should start charging admission. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses under his breath. 

She stares back at him fiercely. “I heard through the rumour mill that you and Sean were going to fight again today, and I thought I’d come and support my fiance.” 

Aaron snorts in response. “You blank me for almost two weeks and now all of a sudden you care about what’s going on in my life?” 

She crosses her arms and shrugs. “It seemed like a fun morning out.” 

“Go home,” he says as he goes to turn away from her, but she just grabs his arm and yanks him back. 

“I’m not going _anywhere,_ ” she shoots back. “So if you want to let Sean beat you to a bloody pulp, then you’re going to have to do it in front of me.” 

She storms off at that, leaving Aaron standing in her wake, dumbfounded and at a complete loss for what to do. 

Why do people always have to ruin things for him? 

He heads to the dressing room to change, his thoughts heavier than they were before, and comes back in just shorts and a vest top, his fists taped up and ready to fight. But even before he gets into the ring, he knows what he has to do. 

It’s not what he _wants_ to do; it’s what he _has_ to. 

The first time Sean goes to punch him, he sees Meg out of the corner of his eye and his body reacts to block the punch before he even tells it to. Because he can’t let this match prove Meg’s point, whatever the hell that point is. 

After a few more solid blocks, Sean rocks back enough to say, mumbled through his mouth guard, “You’re on your game today, Livesy.” 

For some reason hearing that name here, now, presses fire through Aaron’s veins. And before he knows it, he’s throwing the best punch he’s given in weeks and almost knocking Sean right off his feet with it. 

“Oh-oh, it’s on,” Sean mutters, and something clicks in Aaron’s head at that. 

_It’s on_.

The fight isn’t vicious, but only just barely. It’s hard, it’s rough, and it’s more even than maybe ever. And something about that feels _good._

He’s still wound up when it’s done, though. When Sean drops to the mat and holds up his hands in surrender before standing back up and lightly slapping Aaron across his face. 

“Good fight,” Sean says, clearly now that he’s lost the mouth guard. But all Aaron can do is nod, because even when that fight did feel good, it also _didn’t._

“Happy now?” he hisses at Meg as he climbs out of the ring, her eyes all big and Bambi-like as she opens her mouth to speak words he has no desire to hear. 

He blanks her, the same way she’s been blanking him, and heads straight for the dressing room. 

He’s alone when he gets there, his feet carrying him from one side to the other, back and forth, back and forth as Sean clearly takes this time to hang out with his friends. His thoughts spinning, spinning, spinning, _spinning_ so fast that he doesn’t know what he’s doing until his fist is connecting hard with the tile wall. 

Pain shoots through his arm, radiating out in waves as he bites out the word _shit_ and cradles his fist to his chest like that’s gonna help him if he just broke every damn bone in his hand. 

Thankfully, he can still wiggle all of his fingers, but that doesn’t mean his hand hurts any less as he tries to maneuver around it while getting back into his clothes. Every muscle in his body pounding, pulsing, _throbbing_ as he grabs his gear and leaves, ignoring Meg once again in the process. 

Nothing ever goes according to plan. 

~*~

Thankfully it’s a Robert night, a real one, in his flat, and one that Aaron promised to stick around for. So he does his work fast so he can head over as early as possible. 

His last delivery of the night is the good doctor, which normally wouldn’t bother Aaron except for some odd reason, he doesn't really feel like getting groped tonight. Not by Grayson, anyway. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that, for all he knows, Robert and Grayson are still fucking, because that would be daft. 

He’s at a different hotel this time, one that seems even swankier than the last one he frequented. And Aaron tries not to spend too much time wondering what it’s like to live this life. 

Technically, he’s a part of a family that has money. A _lot_ of money. But Aaron has never lived that way, not like Liam, Patrick, and to an extent, Sean. It just always worried him that it was something that could easily be taken away, that life. 

That one day Cal could wake up and say, “You know what? You’re _not_ an actual MacFarlane, so get the hell out of my house,” and that would be it for Aaron. Living on the streets once more. 

He’s made damn sure that the life he was living was one he could live without. 

There’s a rumble in the adjacent bedroom while Grayson gathers up his money, one that’s followed by a bloke stumbling out, clearly already stoned. 

He’s tall, well built, with a shock of red hair and green eyes Aaron can see from clear across the room. But the only thing he can think is that this guy can’t even hold a candle to Robert in the fit department. 

“What happened to the last bloke? The blond one?” Aaron finds himself asking like the words just blurted out as soon as Robert popped into his mind. 

Grayson looks back over his shoulder, making a quizzical face before asking, “Do you mean Robert?” 

Aaron slips eye contact, studying his shoes intently as he replies, “Yeah. ‘im. You two not seeing each other anymore?” 

Grayson laughs. “Oh lad, we were never _seeing each other._ It was only sex. But to answer your question, no, he hasn’t been around in some time.” 

He pauses there, turning to face Aaron fully before saying, “Just between you and me, I think he found someone.”

Aaron’s heart thuds in his chest before ramming itself in the middle of his throat. “Someone?” 

“Yes, _someone_ someone.” 

“What.... What makes you say that?” 

Grayson tips his head from side to side, weighing up his thoughts before answering, “Well he was never one to turn down free sex, even when he was married. And he’d never said no to me before recently. Something must have changed.”

He shrugs before turning back around again, fishing out the rest of his cash, but Aaron’s mind is somewhere else entirely.

With some _one_ else entirely. 

~*~

He feels hesitant as he rides the lift up to Robert’s flat, uncomfortable in his own skin like it doesn’t quite fit his bones anymore. Which is why he startles when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

He assumes it’s Robert, telling him he’s late even though he’s not. Not by much, anyway. It’s Emile, though. And just like the last time Emile texted him, Aaron’s brain has to take a moment to remind himself just who the hell that is. 

He needs to get his head in the game. _Fast_. A fact only proven further when he reads Emile’s text: 

_Got to talk to father today. The party plans seem to be moving along. I should be home in a week or two with a present for you._

He shudders before shoving the phone back in his pocket, intent on ignoring just what that text means, just how little time he has in this new bubble of his. 

Robert’s smile drops as soon as he opens the door, his hand reaching out to cup the newly bruised side of Aaron’s face as he asks in a tone that can’t be construed as anything but worried, “What the hell happened to you?”

Aaron bats his hand away and says, “Boxing,” trying to make this as simple as he can. 

Robert drags his eyes down Aaron’s body, snagging on the hand currently wrapped tightly over cuts and bruises that no one needs to see. 

He grabs Aaron’s wrist gently, lifts his hand up between them and asks, “This from boxing too?” 

Aaron’s response is to lunge at Robert, fisting his good hand in the front of his button up shirt - another one with bloody elbow patches - and dragging them together like it’s exactly how they’re meant to be. 

Robert kisses him for a solid minute before placing his hands gently on Aaron’s shoulders and pushing him back. 

“I’ve made us some tea,” Robert says what Aaron would call shyly if he didn’t know Robert better than that, the smell of something divinely Italian finally reaching Aaron’s senses. 

Aaron checks his mental clock. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“And you’ve been working since tea time, yeah? Let me guess, you haven’t eaten since dinner?” 

It’s true. The last meal Aaron ate was at home, after he cleaned up from his boxing match with Sean. But Aaron is fluent in skipping meals, so he really isn’t hungry. 

Or he _wasn’t_ hungry, anyway, until he started to smell Robert’s cooking. 

“I made carbonara,” Robert adds proudly, and even though something in Aaron’s gut is telling him to run, he simply smiles back and nods, letting Robert lead the way into the dine-in kitchen. 

He points to the seat he wants Aaron to sit in before plating up the food, a salad first that Aaron just stares at like it’s poisonous. 

Robert laughs, all light and airy and _sexy._

“It won’t kill you,” he says like he can read Aaron’s mind, then goes to serve the main course. But any nerves that Aaron was feeling quadruple when Robert sits next to him at the table. 

“What?” Robert asks, his eyes flitting between Aaron’s and the food. “Something wrong with the food?” 

“No, it’s just… this is awkward,” he says because it is, and for some reason he thinks Robert doesn’t realize that. 

Robert laughs again, the sound soothing to Aaron as he asks, “Would it help if I were naked?”

Aaron smiles crookedly, leaning his forearms on the table to get closer to Robert before replying, “Certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

He stretches his leg out at that, hooks it around Robert’s chair and tugs him closer before humming, “You get more time with me and you want to spend it eating pasta?” 

Robert leans in as well, his lips a mere inch from Aaron’s when he replies, “It’s not just pasta. It’s homemade carbonara. And yes, I want to eat a meal with you. Is that so scandalous?” 

Aaron thinks for a second as the scent of the food continues to ease into his nose, making his stomach rumble. “Spose not. Just don’t forget the deal we made.”

_Just sex,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. The look on Robert’s face tells him he remembers it well. 

“It’s just a meal, Aaron, not a proposal. Mates eat meals together all the time, don’t they?” 

Aaron moves his chair back to where it was before, the smile still present on his lips as he says, “Yeah, I guess they do.” 

~*~

“So then she slapped him so hard you could still see her handprint on his face the next day!” Robert says, his words strained by laughter as he slaps his hand on the table, rattling the empty dishes in front of them. 

“And this is your best mate?” Aaron asks, laughing as well as he leans back in his chair, his right ankle crossed over his left knee as he listens to the end of Robert’s story. 

“Well, he’s alright,” he replies before snorting and adding, “Some of the time.” 

Aaron throws his hands up in the air. “Hey, at least he provides you with entertainment.”

Robert nods, takes a sip of wine, and says, “Yeah, plus I always look good next to him. Makes me seem downright chivalrous.”

Aaron laughs even harder, because of all the words he’d use for Robert, chivalrous isn’t really one of them. 

Is it? 

~*~

He thought it was just sex with Robert that quieted him, but when they make their way to the bedroom, still giggling, he realizes that he didn’t experience a moment of anxiety during dinner. Not one single moment. And that…

Aaron doesn’t know what to do with that except funnel it into the one thing that does make sense, which is why he’s friskier than normal as they stumble into Robert’s bedroom, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

He wants to devour him, a sentiment that Robert can clearly pick up on judging by the way he just continues laughing into their kiss while saying, “I’ll have to cook you dinner more often if this is the response.” 

Aaron shoves him onto the bed, his voice full of blinding heat as he bites out a quick, “Shut up.”

For once, Robert listens to him. 

Aaron gets to take control tonight, topping Robert, sliding into him like he’s made to be there. But his control starts to splinter when Robert begins to trace the bruises on Aaron’s face and body. 

It’s gentle, what he’s doing, feather light around the edges. And he’s not even sure Robert is aware he’s doing it. But Aaron still can’t handle this kind of softness. 

He’s been taught only roughness, been raised with only pain, and so he grabs Robert’s wrists and forces him to grab his arse. Because Aaron’s bruises are his own, and he doesn’t need Robert to soothe them. 

He finds Robert’s prostate shortly after that, keeping consistent pressure on it as he circles his hips until Robert’s nails dig painfully into his arse and Robert’s eyes roll satisfyingly back into his head. Robert’s voice repeating, “Oh god,” over and over again until he comes with no pressure apart from Aaron’s stomach brushing up against his cock.

“Thank you,” Robert groans out once he’s managed to catch his breath. 

Aaron turns onto his side from where he’d rolled onto his back, taking in Robert’s post-sex glow as he replies, incredulously, “Thank you?” 

Robert smacks his chest. “Shut up, I don’t know what to say. That was… Aaron, that was incredible.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, but when he’s done doing that, he stares back into Robert’s. His eyes stuck there as he breathes in the smell of Robert’s sweat and shower gel, sweet and pungent in the sheets. 

“This can’t be anything more than what it is,” Aaron says before he even knows he’s opened his mouth to speak. 

He pauses, makes sure Robert is with him before adding, “This is all I can be.” 

“I know,” Robert replies soberly, _somberly._ And Aaron almost asks _do you,_ but he doesn’t think he wants the answer to that. 

So instead, he kisses him. Memorizes the taste of chilled wine and warm food. Not because he’s trying it on, not because he wants the kiss to lead anywhere, but simply because for now, he can.


	11. No Trust

It’s been a few weeks since the start of this newest stage of their sexationship, and Robert has been with Aaron in some capacity almost every single night since, whether wrapped in Egyptian cotton or plastered to sticky, potentially mouldy leather. 

It’s an easy bet which one Robert prefers. 

What he prefers most of all, though, is being with Aaron whenever he can have him, so he’ll deal with the discomfort and count himself lucky. Especially when the alternative is Aaron saying an all-encompassing “no” and disappearing on him for good. 

Robert gets that fear in his gut just about every time Aaron leaves him. The way he gets dressed so quickly you’d think they were in the middle of a police raid is unsettling, as is the way he can rarely look Robert in the eye once their skin stops touching. The times he does, though…

The times he stares into Robert’s eyes and kisses him one last time, slow and deep… the times he allows Robert to hold him in his arms when they’re done, if only for a few stolen moments… the times he lets Robert have him again, and sometimes _again_ … those are the moments Robert has been living for lately. 

Those are the moments when Robert feels, in some small way, like Aaron is _his._

Which is a stupid thought to have, of course. Because another thing Aaron has taken to doing is finding numerous, creative ways to remind Robert that all they’re doing is having sex. Like calling him mate constantly or punching him goodnaturedly on the arm once he’s come in his arse, a conflicting message if he’s ever seen one. So Robert knows exactly where he stands. 

It’s exactly where he wants to be. He swears it. 

“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be gone this weekend,” Robert says casually as he lies back on his bed, his fingers linked behind his head in the picture of relaxation even though there’s an uncomfortable ache in his gut as he says the words. 

“Okay,” Aaron replies helpfully from inside his t-shirt, his lack of care evident even through the muffled nature of his voice. 

“I’m going back to see my sister,” Robert adds despite the fact that Aaron has made no indication that he’s curious about why Robert is taking himself out of their cushy little equation for a few whole days. 

Aaron pauses in his movements, looking quite ridiculous with his black t-shirt still not pulled over his head before he yanks it down and stares at Robert with a face that’s so impassive it has to be anything but. 

“In Emmerdale?” Aaron asks. And there’s this slight - _very slight_ \- hitch to Aaron’s voice that worries Robert. 

“Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered the name. Chrissie and I were together for almost five years and she still couldn’t remember where I was born.” 

Aaron pulls the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth and makes a scan of the room like he’s looking for cameras, both odd responses only made odder when he says, “You can’t tell anyone you know me.” 

Robert huffs out a short laugh, but when it’s clear that this is not, in fact, a joke, he asks, “Come again?” 

Aaron moves closer to the bed, his knees butting up against the mattress when he replies, “You can’t tell _anyone_ in that village that you know me, is that clear?” 

A chill runs up Robert’s spine that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s still lying naked on his bed, his eyes narrowing down as he sits up, pulls his knees to his chest, and asks, “Aaron, are you in some kind of trouble?” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, which is both unhelpful and incredibly rude. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in trouble. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t talk about me at all while you’re there.” 

“Aaron-”

“I mean it, Robert,” he snaps. “You mention my name even once and we’re done.” 

“Well that’s a difficult stipulation to enforce,” he says out loud because he’s an idiot. A fact further proven by the way Aaron grabs his hoodie from the foot of the bed and goes to storm out of the bedroom. 

“I won’t, Aaron!” Robert calls after him, getting to his feet and grabbing Aaron before he can cross the threshold. 

He cups Aaron’s face, kisses him once on the lips, softly, and says, “I promise I won’t,” because what else is he supposed to say here? 

Aaron’s shoulders sag with what is likely relief, and Robert wants to ask, so badly he wants to _ask_ , but it’s clear that Aaron doesn’t want him to know what’s going on here. And if there’s one thing he knows Aaron values, it’s his privacy. 

So instead, he kisses Aaron again, deeper this time. Instead, he swallows the little moans that escape Aaron’s lips as Aaron’s hands skim down Robert’s naked sides. 

Instead, he takes Aaron back to bed and has him again, because when it comes to Aaron, he’ll take every little bit that he can get. 

~*~

Emmerdale. Emmerdale village. Emmerdale village in Yorkshire. Yorkshire with its rolling hills. With its greens and browns and little else. With its great, wide skies and endless nothing. 

_Emmerdale._

Home.

Robert hates coming home. 

~*~

“Robert! It’s so good to see you!” Vic exclaims as she dives from her front door into his arms. 

“Good to see you too, Vic,” he groans, patting her on the back in the international sign of _you can stop hugging me now_. 

It takes a few long seconds for Vic to get the message because some things never change. 

“Come on, I’ll fix us up a brew,” she says brightly as she grabs Robert’s hand and drags him into the kitchen, giving him barely enough time to drop his overnight bag and shut the door behind him. 

“Still cream, no sugar?” she asks. 

“As always,” he responds, and just like that, Robert’s home.

~*~

“So, tell me about your love life,” she says predictably once they’re sat at her dining table. 

“Vic, I just got here. Can’t we start with, like, weather or sports?” 

“It’s cold and rainy and you hate sports. So do I. There. Now, tell me about your love life.”

Robert tips his head, studying his sister before leaning his forearms onto the table and saying smoothly, “How about you tell me about work?” 

“It’s fine.” 

Robert grits his teeth. “How about Adam then? What’s he up to?” 

She leans forward, matching his pose. “You don’t care about Adam and we both know it. What are you avoiding, Robert?” 

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “I’m not avoiding anything. I just don’t understand why the first thing out of your mouth is always a question about my love life. I’m divorced. _Happily_ divorced. Can’t we just leave it at that?” 

Vic looks up at the ceiling at that, pretends to be pondering Robert’s question before saying a succinct, “Nope.” 

Robert groans again. He suspects he’ll be doing a lot of that this weekend. 

“Robert, all I want to know is if you’re seeing someone. That’s it. Simple yes or no and we’ll be done with this.” 

“Then no,” he says, but as per usual, his sister is a big, fat liar. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“And why is that, DSI Sugden?” 

There’s a long, pregnant pause in which the air tightens around them before Vic says, “Because for the first time in a long time, you actually do look happy.”

To say that Robert is floored by that answer would be an understatement. 

“I’ve looked happy before,” he says as smoothly he can, but even he can hear the bumps in the road of his voice, the way it shakes slightly, like he’s been caught out doing something he shouldn’t’ve. 

“Robert,” she says softly, reaching out to uncross his arms so she can hold his hand in hers. “You know you can tell me anything, right? _Anything._ I just want you to be happy.” 

Her eyes are gigantic right now, swimming in unshed tears. And there’s never been a version of himself that could resist _this_ Vic. So he says, “His name is Daniel,” because it’s the closest he can come to the truth without betraying Aaron. 

Vic makes a sound that only dogs should be able to hear as she jumps from her chair and attacks Robert with another back-crushing hug. 

“Vic, _Vic_ ,” he says in an attempt to dislodge her, given that his arms are pinned uselessly to his sides. “Let me go.” 

“Sorry,” she says in a way that tells him she is not, in fact, sorry. “I’m just so _excited_ , Rob. This is great! Tell me all about him.” 

“There’s not much to tell,” he says, scratching the back of his head shyly. “He lives in the city, he’s a… a mechanic, he’s grumpy as all get out, has got a wicked sense of humour, and he… em…”

“What does he look like?” Vic prompts when it becomes clear that Robert’s run out of half-truths and flat out lies to tell. 

“He’s so fit, Vic. I mean, he boxes, right? So he’s… well… _fit._ And he’s got these blue eyes… I can’t even describe the colour blue to you, they’re just…” 

He trails off on a dreamy flipping sigh, realizing too late in the expression on Vic’s face that he’s somehow morphed into a teenage girl in the last few minutes. 

“Don’t get excited, though,” he says, holding up a hand before she can squeal again. “It’s not serious. It’s just sex.”

Vic pinches her face up. “Gross. I don’t need to hear about that.” 

“I’m just trying to let you down easy, that’s all,” he says. “There’s no, like, wedding bells in the future or anything. We’re just having a bit of fun.”

“If you say so,” Vic says with a sly smile as she lifts her mug to her lips. 

And yes, Robert _says so._

~*~

Since Robert came straight from work, he’s too tired to do much that evening. All they do is have some tea - a homemade chicken casserole that Robert remembers as one of his mum’s recipes - and watch a film - some soppy, romantic comedy that Vic picked because _I made the food so I get to pick the film stop looking at me like that it's only fair Robert._

It’s a good night, all told, curled up with just his sister because apparently Adam is spending the night at his mum’s ( _we’re not fighting, Robert, so stop looking so excited, he just had to work late is all_ ). It’s good, though, which is probably why he does it. 

Why he gets ready for bed, slipping on his pyjamas and brushing his teeth. Why he climbs under the sheets, a bit over-starched but still soft enough to be inviting. And why he takes out his phone and opens his messages to Aaron. 

He’s been lulled. That’s the only explanation for it. 

_Boo,_ he types like a seven year old. 

It takes a good, solid five minutes before he gets a response: 

_ah_

Robert smiles, the word _happy_ still cycling through his mind as he says, _Tell me what you’ve been up to this evening. It can’t possibly be better than what I did._

Three black dots taunt Robert for almost a full minute before the response pops up: 

_went 2 c that new marvel film youve been bangin on about_

The first thing Robert types is this: _Oh, who’d you go with?_ Because in all the time he’s known him, Aaron’s never mentioned a film buddy or really a mate in general. But then it hits him who an engaged man would probably go to a film with on a Friday night and his stomach drops to somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. 

He erases the message immediately, not wanting the confirmation that Aaron has been spending a night out with his fiance, and instead asks a more innocuous: _Did you like it?_

The message comes back almost immediately: 

_what do you think_

Robert laughs, a surprised burst of it coming up from his gut, still firmly residing near his toes, as he pictures Aaron’s mardy little face as he typed out that reply. 

He’s about to say something witty in response when a second message comes through from Aaron:

_you keepin your gob shut_

_Charming,_ Robert replies as he feels the mood slowly die a tragic death all around him. _You speak to your fiance like that?_

He manages to catch himself before he sends that second one, deleting it as quickly as he’d done earlier before typing a bitter, _Your secret is still safe, Clark._

_whos clark_

Robert rolls his eyes at Aaron’s complete hopelessness. 

_Clark Kent? Superman? It means I haven’t told anyone about you, and I won’t. I promised you I’d keep it a secret and I keep my promises. You should know that by now._

He considers deleting that last bit, but in the end he decides to leave it, mostly because it’s true. Aaron really should know him better by now. 

_alright stop clogging up my phone then i get charged fifteen pence per text_

Robert snorts. 

_No, you don’t._

_isnt that what they used to do back when you were a kid you know back in the olden days_

Robert’s eyes narrow, but his smile is getting larger by the second. 

_Are you trying to insinuate that I’m old?_

_insinuate i’m flat out sayin it you’re old mate that clearer for you_

Robert is laughing again at that, imagining Aaron lying in bed like him, nothing but the glow of his mobile’s screen for light, joking around with him like they’re old friends. 

_Friends,_ he thinks, one of whom is probably lying next to a sleeping fiance right now. 

_I should be off to bed,_ he types, something akin to sadness sweeping through his veins as he looks down at his words on the screen and wishes they said something else. 

_I’ve got a big day tomorrow._

It’s the truth. But it’s also _not_ the truth as well. 

_yeah well dont cark it in your sleep old man,_ Aaron responds, and another smile tries to break through at that before Robert realizes all the reasons he has to be miserable right now. 

He doesn’t respond. It takes all of the will power he’s got _not_ to send anything back to Aaron. But it would be pointless if he did anyway. All it would do is clog up his _mate’s_ phone. And Robert wouldn’t want to do that, would he? 

He’s got better things to be doing with his time. 

~*~

There’s a sheet of ice covering everything the next morning as they make their way to the cemetery. Even the roofs of the buildings are glistening with it, his and Adam’s arms wrapped around Victoria’s to keep her from falling in her far less practical footwear. 

It’s their dad’s anniversary today, the reason why Robert has come home, but the closer they get to the graveyard, the more he wants to turn around and run for the literal hills surrounding this tired little village. 

He sees Andy’s silver Land Rover as they turn the final corner, and Robert’s throat gets so tight he can hardly breathe. 

Almost as if she can sense his discomfort (or almost as if she can sense his desire to run), Vic tightens her arm around Robert’s, pulling him closer into her body and holding him as firmly as she likely can. 

_Just breathe,_ Robert reminds himself. The only thing he’s responsible for doing today is breathing. 

They’re all stood around the grave a few minutes later, sharing stories about Jack Sugden like he was some sort of saint when all Robert remembers are the disappointed looks and the cutting remarks. 

When all he remembers is a leather belt crashing against his skin and the sound of his father’s voice when he told him to leave and never come back. 

He did come back, for some reason. And he keeps _coming back_ even though he knows he should stay away. But he loves Vic. If there’s nothing else in this stupid village for him, there’s still her. And he’s not going to let her down just because he’s got the voice of a dead man in his ear telling him he’s worthless. 

He wishes Aaron were here, can almost feel the press of his rough palm in Robert’s, hear his voice whispering that everything will be okay. But the dream is shattered by Diane’s voice before it can even find its footing. 

“Is there anything you want to say, pet?” she asks, her eyes all hopeful like she thinks that maybe, just this once, Robert will open his mouth and preach the Gospel of Jack Sugden like the rest of them. 

He just looks at the grave, though, feels an intense surge of hatred and disgust ride through him before saying a, “no thanks,” far quieter and kinder than the words he wants to scream right now. 

Aaron’s hand is gone from his thought, evaporated in all the shame. And all Robert is left with is a group of people that will never understand that the Jack he knew is nothing like the one they did. 

~*~

Diane and Katie have tag-teamed on a roast that they’re thankfully eating at the pub. If Robert had to sulk his way up to perfect Andy and Katie’s perfect dream house farm right now he might light something on fire. 

As it stands, he’s sitting at the table in the back of the pub, his head down as he shovels lifeless fork’s full of food to his mouth while the numbing chitchat around him just washes off him like water. 

That is, until Andy has to ruin it with his stupidity because Andy _always_ ruins things with his stupidity. His voice all high and mighty when he says, “So Robert, you’ve got nowt to say? Since when?”

Robert looks at his brother, tries with all his might to melt him with his eyes before he realizes he is not actually a mutant. Sadly. 

“Not to you, I don’t,” he says instead before dropping his head again, staring at the array of browns on his plate. 

“Too good to take part in family conversation, and too good to say one kind word about his dead father,” Andy says bitterly, under his breath but still plenty loud for the whole table to hear. 

Vic drops her hand from where it was resting on the table so she can grip Robert’s forearm. But the slight bit of comfort does nothing to quiet the burning rage coursing through Robert’s veins. 

“Don’t mind him, pet,” Diane tries to peace-make. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s grieving.” 

Robert snorts, causing Vic to tighten her grip. “What, and I’m not? He was _my_ father.” 

Andy moves forward like he’s getting ready to lunge across the dinner table at Robert. “And what? You’re saying he wasn’t mine?” 

“Not by blood, he wasn’t.” 

Andy’s face contorts into pure disgust at the audacity Robert has in suggesting that Jack isn’t his precious father. 

“Well by that logic, Robert, Vic is the only one that can claim Sarah as her mum. How does that make you feel?” 

Robert gets up at that, his chair scraping loudly on the floor as he points a threatening finger at Andy. “Don’t you say her name to me. You don’t even get to _speak_ of her in front of me, you hear that?” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Andy asks all smugly. 

“What, that you killed my mum? Funnily enough, no, I’m not going to let that one go.” 

“It was an accident, Robert,” Diane tries to chime in, the only one brave enough to speak since the argument started. 

He spares her a passing glance before looking back to Andy, nothing but hatred in his eyes as he says, “The only accident here is him,” and storming away. 

He knew he never should’ve come home. 

~*~

It’s freezing outside, and there’s a light dusting of snow falling from the sky, but Robert still finds himself at the old cricket pavilion that night because he can’t stand whatever look Vic might be sending his way right now. Disappointment or sympathy, they’re both equally unwelcome. 

He used to come here sometimes when he was a kid. Hell, every kid in Emmerdale comes here sometimes, just to get away. And that’s all that Robert wants right now. 

He wants to just disappear. 

He’d almost done it, gotten in his car and drove straight back to Leeds. But he’d promised Vic he’d stay through the weekend and there’s some sort of fault in him that makes it impossible to break a promise to her. 

Until recently, that fault was only Vic-specific. But now, he’s realized that there’s a second person on this earth that is owed Robert’s loyalty. And right now, he wishes more than anything that he were here. Which is why he settles for the next best thing. 

Why he takes a swig from the now half-empty bottle of whiskey he’d swiped from the pub, why he sits in a sprawl against the outside wall of the pavilion, and why he dials Aaron’s number. Because he needs to hear his voice right now, even if it’s just telling him to piss off. 

The phone rings a good six times before Aaron’s voice clicks in and says, “Hello?” 

He sounds wide awake. Which makes sense. He’s probably still working. And Robert is an idiot for interrupting. 

“‘m sorry,” Robert mumbles drunkenly. “I shouldn’t’ve called you. Sorry to bother you.” 

“Robert, wait!” Aaron hisses, and Robert is too captivated by the sound of Aaron’s voice to do anything but obey. 

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” Robert says so quietly, so flipping _pathetically_ he wants to punch himself in the face. 

Aaron’s voice is soft when he replies, though, liquid around the words, “But you called anyway.” And it’s not an accusation, it’s simply a stated fact. 

Robert didn’t think Aaron would answer a call from him, but he _still called anyway._

Maybe that says something. Or maybe Robert’s just drunk and sad. Who knows? 

“You drunk?” Aaron asks next because Robert is apparently too out of it to form words. As evidenced by the fact that his only response is a mumbled, “Mmmhmm.” 

“Something… uh… something go wrong today?” 

He can feel Aaron’s discomfort, can almost see Aaron shifting on his feet, scratching his beard with his free hand. But he hasn’t hung up yet, and maybe that means something, too. 

“Just my dad’s anniversary,” he says. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“S’okay,” Robert interrupts because he can’t bear the thought of Aaron feeling sorry for him, not about this. “Family is just… family, you know?” 

“Mmm,” Aaron replies, not a yes and not a no. 

“Aaron-”

“I need to get back to work,” Aaron interrupts this time. “I’m… sorry.”

“S’okay,” Robert replies even though it really isn’t. Even though he’d give anything to be able to curl around Aaron’s body right now, even if just for a few minutes. 

“Get some sleep, yeah?” 

“I will. And Aaron…” _Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it._ “... I miss you.” 

Aaron laughs. “Well I guess your hand will have to do for a night or two.”

“That’s not what I mean…” _Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it._ “... I mean, I miss _you._ ” 

There’s a few seconds of dead air before Aaron says, “Rob.” And even though it’s clearly supposed to be a reprimand, it’s just about the softest thing Robert has ever heard.

“Say it again,” Robert pleads. It’s the first time Aaron has ever called him Rob, and now that he has, all Robert wants is to hear it again. 

“No,” Aaron replies, but again, it’s the perfect mix of soft and hard, skating right down the middle, leaving Robert with no clue where it’s going to fall. “Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll see ya in a day or two.” 

“Yeah. I’ll see ya in a day or two,” Robert echoes, but that’s all it is right now. A hollow echo. Until Aaron opens his mouth one last time and says: 

“Goodnight… Rob.” 

He hangs up before Robert can say goodnight back, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Aaron’s voice, wrapped around three letters that mean the world to Robert. 

He gets to his feet a few seconds later, intent on stumbling back to Vic’s and whatever lecture awaits him there. Before he can get far, though, he trips over his own feet and has to catch the railing for balance. And that’s when he sees it, illuminated by the moonlight like it was meant for him to find. 

_Aaron woz here 2003_

His heart stops beating for a few solid seconds, his blood running colder than the air outside as he trails his fingers over the letters carved into the railing. The words _it can’t be_ lodged in his thought as he continues to stare at the proof in front of him. 

It can’t be him… can it?

~*~

Robert goes to the pub the next morning to apologize to Diane for ruining dinner yesterday. But it’s just his luck that Diane is off taking care of a delivery, which leaves Robert sitting in the pub’s backroom with Number Two on the I Hate Robert Sugden list, Chas Dingle. 

“I heard what happened yesterday,” she says darkly, because of course the first thing Katie would do post blowup is run straight to her BFF and give her all the goss. 

“I’m sure you did,” he replies in as bored a tone as he can find as he stalks around the outer rim of the room like a tiger waiting to attack. 

“Katie said you really came down hard on Andy,” she continues as if she thinks this is actually a conversation Robert wants to be having right now. 

“I’ll bet she did,” Robert mumbles. 

“You know, you got a lot of nerve, waltzing into this village like you’re Lord Muck, and talking to people like they’re beneath you. _Good_ people. Your brother wouldn’t hurt a fly, and Diane, Diane deserves…”

Chas’ voice fazes out into little more than a drone in Robert’s ears as he stops walking, frozen in front of the hutch holding all of Diane’s and Chas’ family pictures. 

He’s seen them all before, dozens of times, but this time around, there’s one in particular that arrests his attention. 

A young boy, maybe seven? Eight? With blue eyes the colour of which Robert has only ever seen on one person. Which is when he remembers back through his drunken haze of the night before: 

_Aaron woz here 2003_

“Chas, what’s your son’s name?” he asks abruptly as he spins around to face her. 

Her face crumples in pain as Robert realizes his mistake, remembering how the Dingles have been looking for their lost member for years… _years._ And how just about everyone in the village outside of the boy’s mother thinks he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“What are you… why do you want…”

“I’m sorry, I just… just was looking at his picture here, and I wondered…”

“It’s Aaron,” she says, her eyes gleaming now with tears that Robert caused. “His name is Aaron.” 

~*~

He’s pacing his flat the next evening, back and forth and back and forth as he waits for Aaron to show up, unsure of what he’s going to tell him. Unsure if he’s going to tell him anything _at all_. 

Because he could still be wrong. Just because Chas’ son’s name is Aaron, that doesn’t mean it’s _his_ Aaron. Just because the name Aaron was carved into the pavilion railing… just because Aaron was _adamant_ about him telling no one in the village who he was…

Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? Aaron Livesy is the long lost flipping _Dingle._

How is this possible? 

He has to tell him what he found, doesn’t he? Maybe Aaron doesn’t know how hard they looked for him, how every time Robert came home for a visit the Dingles were following some new lead that inevitably went nowhere. How much they _missed him._ Maybe he doesn’t know all that and maybe that’s why Robert stumbled on the truth. Because he’s the one who’s supposed to tell him. 

Aaron comes through his door with all the gusto he usually displays, forever wanting to just get down to business in a way Robert isn’t sure he’ll ever understand. And usually, Robert just goes with it. Tonight, though…

Tonight they need to talk. 

“I have to tell you something,” he says as he literally grabs Aaron’s biceps and pries their bodies apart. 

“Can’t it wait?” Aaron asks, his eyes still so full of hunger as he tries to bridge the gap between them to get to Robert’s lips. 

He wants to let him, wants to just sink into Aaron after three days gone without him, wait to tell him what he’s found, or maybe not tell him at all. But he owes it to Aaron to be honest here and so despite honesty not really being his strong suit, he’s still going to make a go of it. 

“It’s important, Aaron,” he says, lowering his voice in a way that he hopes sounds authoritative. 

It seems to work, judging by how Aaron takes a few extra steps away from Robert. But it’s not curiosity, it’s _anger_ that flashes across his face when he asks, “What did you do?” 

_This is it,_ Robert thinks. He’s in this now.

“I know who you are,” he replies, his voice trembling as he looks out at Aaron and silently begs him not to run. 

Aaron shakes his head slightly and plants his feet. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I mean I know that you’re Aaron Dingle.”

The quiet that fills the room after Robert’s words is deafening in its intensity before Aaron eventually breaks it with a cold, “Who did you tell?” 

“No one,” Robert bites out quickly, before adding a more contrite, “I did ask your mum what her son’s name was because I couldn’t remember, but that’s it, I swear.” 

Aaron’s eyes go wide with what can only be described as terror. “You talked to my _mum_ about me?” 

“Aaron-”

“You _talked to my mum_ about me?!” he shouts, his voice the perfect blend of hurt and angry to make everything inside of Robert ache with regret. 

“They’ve been looking for you for years, the Dingles,” Robert says as he tries to reach out for Aaron, tears of desperation stinging at the corners of his eyes when Aaron backs away. 

“Yeah right,” he hisses. “Why would they even want me?” 

“Because you’re Aaron Dingle,” Robert says as if he’s pleading, which he is, he supposes. “Everybody in that village knows about you. Ever since you and your dad disappeared they’ve been searching high and low for you.” 

“If they wanted me so bad, then why did they leave me with-”

Aaron cuts himself off there, wiping roughly at the tears that have sprung to his eyes as well, before finishing, “Why did they _leave me_?” 

“I don’t know, Aaron. All I know is that they want you now. Your mum… she practically broke down just at the mention of you. She _loves_ you.” 

“Bullshit!” he snaps. “Let her… let them _all_ think I’m dead. It’s what they deserve.”

“You don’t mean that,” Robert tries, a last ditch effort that’s met with the coldest look he’s ever seen grace Aaron’s beautiful face. 

“Oh, I mean it. And do you wanna know what else I mean? You and me? We’re _done._ ” 

He turns around at that, heading for the door as if Robert’s going to just take what he said lying down. 

He’s not. Of course he’s not. Which is why he risks getting decked by grabbing Aaron’s arm and spinning him around. 

“What do you mean _we’re done_?” 

“You heard. I don’t need to be around someone that’s gonna be spying on me.” 

Robert laughs bitterly. “That’s rich coming from the bloke that did a full background search on me.” 

Aaron shoves Robert hard in the chest. “That was for business and you know it. This? I told you not to talk about me and you did.” 

“No, you told me not to tell anyone I knew you, and I didn’t.” 

“You and your technicalities,” Aaron spits at him. “I believe my exact words were _you mention my name even once and we’re done._ ”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But Robert still isn’t going down without a fight. 

“You can’t just go like this, Aaron. I was trying to _help_ you.” 

“Why?” he asks, throwing his arms in the air in defeat. “Why would you even care?” 

“Because I want to know you, you prat!” he shouts, thinking of all the google searches that came up empty, all of the leading questions that Aaron never bit. 

Aaron’s face settles to cruel impassivity. “Well I’m not yours to know, and I never will be. I can’t trust you, and I can’t be around someone I don’t trust.”

He wipes his eyes one final time before saying, “Don’t contact me,” and walking out of Robert’s flat. Out of Robert’s _life_. And Robert has no viable recourse to deal with an ending like this. 


	12. The Desperate Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for self-harm and attempted rape (sort of… it’s not all that bad but I wanted to warn for it just in case). Aaron gets a bit dark here without Robert to balance him, but it gets better, I promise!

There’s an itch on the back of Aaron’s neck. It’s been constant over the last few days, one that no matter how hard he scratches, he can’t get rid of it. And he’s scared to admit how much it feels like a target. 

From the moment he left Robert’s flat, he’s been expecting the Dingles to come knocking down his door, and not in a good way. Regardless of what Robert said, nothing will make Aaron believe that his family actually _misses_ him. That they love him. And so what other reason could they possibly have for wanting to find him if not to make him suffer even more than he already has? 

_They can’t find me,_ he constantly reassures himself. Even if they track Robert down, that doesn’t mean they’ll be able to find _him._ Cal has gone to extensive lengths over the years to make sure Aaron can’t be found. But that can’t stop the itch from plaguing him from the time he wakes up, groggy and bitter, to the time he passes out, exhausted and alone. 

_They can’t find me,_ he tells himself. 

_They’re coming for you,_ the other voice counters. 

And somewhere in the middle, Aaron waits. 

This is what he’s thinking of right now. It’s not what he _should_ be thinking of. That award belongs to whatever the hell Emile is currently saying. _That’s_ what he should be listening to, but all Aaron can hear is his mother’s voice telling him he doesn’t deserve her. His uncle Zak’s telling him that he’s nothing. 

Gordon’s telling him that they never wanted him and never would. That they left Aaron with Gordon, never once caring what Gordon did with him. What hell he put him through. 

“Earth to Aaron,” Emile says, the words only recognizable because they’re preceded by a loud clap meant to wake him up. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Aaron shifts where he’s been leaning against the wall of the warehouse, hugs his arms tighter around his body and nods. “‘Course I’m listening to you. Just… was a late night, s’all. Soz.” 

“Ah, you and the lovely Meghan have a ‘relaxing’ night in?” he asks with a lecherous smile and a wink that make Aaron feel a little sick, given the topic of conversation. 

“You could say that,” Aaron replies, if going to sleep silently on opposite ends of the bed is what Emile was insinuating. 

Aaron needs to fix that soon, whatever’s broken between him and Meg. He can’t do what he’s gotta do in this life without her having his back. But he’s got too much on his mind right now to be of any use in that department. 

“You’re not… getting cold feet, are you?” Emile asks next, his voice hesitant, like he’s afraid of Aaron’s answer. 

“Of course not. This whole thing was my idea. Why would you think I’m getting cold feet?” 

Emile tips his head and drags his eyes down Aaron’s body. “You just… don’t look so good, mon ami. Like something is wrong?” 

_Of course something’s wrong,_ he thinks as he looks around the office. You know, the one he can’t be in without thinking of him and Robert naked and sweaty. The Robert who betrayed him. The one he can’t stop thinking about. The one that feels like a giant, gaping hole carved out of the middle of him and the one who broke his flipping h-

_Of course something’s wrong,_ he thinks, but he says, “Everything’s just peachy,” because Emile is here to do business, not be his counselor. And so business is exactly what they’re gonna do. 

~*~

Four days after Robert, things get very loud. Worse than maybe it’s ever been. And there are only so many ways that Aaron knows to stop it. 

~*~

The boxing mat feels spongier than normal, giving him lift, a bounce in his step that would be a good sign to any normal person. Sean will notice it, Sean will _use_ it, but Aaron...

He knows, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he can win. But today is not about winning. Today is about _therapy,_ the only kind he recognizes. So his feet will be dead weights, his fists will be filled with air, his reflexes will be rooted in tar, and his body will be tensed enough to feel every single punch all the way to the bones of him. 

It’s not about wanting to; it’s about _having to._

Sean looks smug as he exits the dressing room. And Aaron can’t figure if he’s cottoned on to the fact that he’s been throwing the fights or if he’s just that thick. 

Aaron doesn’t even try to make it look good anymore because realism is no longer important. He just needs Sean to punch him as hard as he can. And if Sean can’t see that’s what’s going on here, then he’s dumber than he looks. 

The fight starts out slow for both sides. Aaron hasn’t done this since he started seeing Robert more regularly, so it’s been a while. It doesn't take long, though, for Sean to really get into it. 

For some reason, with every punch his mind drifts to Robert. 

A quick jab to the gut has him thinking of how funny Robert _isn’t._ How he’ll laugh at his own jokes even if no one around him is laughing and how that would almost be an admirable quality if he were even slightly funny to begin with. 

A shot to the ribs makes him think of Robert’s arrogance, the way he acts like the world owes him a favor or fifty, how even when he’s done something unforgivably wrong, he acts as if he’s the injured party. 

Another hit to the ribs, landing in the same spot but not cracking anything this time, makes Aaron think of safety, how in a life lived on the edge of a knife’s blade, Robert is the first person that’s ever offered him true security with minimal strings attached. 

He takes a hard right hook off his jaw and it makes him think of his scars, of how Robert had seen them and how he’d not even cared. How he’d told Aaron that his scars were _his_ business, Aaron’s business, only Aaron’s business. And how in the end, he hadn’t run. 

He hadn’t run. 

The final hit to his temple, the one that inevitably knocks him out, makes him think of just one word: Happy. His mind slipping to unconsciousness on the back of the thought that Robert actually makes him _happy,_ a foreign emotion to Aaron most of his life but there it is. 

Or there it was. 

But none of that is really important as his vision fades to black. 

~*~

“Jesus Christ, you scared me half to death you stupid fucking prat,” Meg shrieks at him. And it only takes about a half a second of that for him to regret opening his eyes. 

“Where am I?” he asks because Aaron’s never been great with unfamiliar places, his eyes shutting once more against the headache pounding out from the left side of his face. 

“You’re in the fucking hospital, you idiot. Sean knocked you out during your fight - which, by the way, we’ll be having a discussion about later. But he knocked you out and the smelling salts wouldn’t work and they even tried dumping a bucket of cold water over your head but nothing worked because you were _out cold_ and so Sean, the moron, called me asking what to do and I screamed _take him to a fucking hospital you twit_ and then he did and so you’re here. At the hospital.” 

Aaron didn’t follow even half of that, but at least he knows where he is. That’s gotta mean something. 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine, so I think I’ll be heading home if it’s alright with everyone,” Aaron says as he goes to sit up in the bed, his whole body screaming out in pain as he does so which is both what he wanted and not. 

Not here, anyway. Not now. 

“We’re still waiting for the results from your scan,” she says matter-of-factly before leading him gently back into a prone position. “The doctor thinks it’s probably just a mild concussion but he wants to make sure that Sean didn’t do permanent brain damage during your fight.”

He blinks up at her, undisturbed. 

“Did you hear me?” she asks, her voice getting frightfully close to shriek levels again. But Aaron still just stares at her. “They’re worried you could possibly have _permanent brain damage,_ Aaron. As in your brain is… is… _damaged permanently._ And all you can do is _blink_ at me?” 

“I don’t have permanent brain damage,” he offers blandly as he resists the urge to just close his eyes and curl up into a ball of pain. 

“And you know that how, Dr. Livesy?” 

“Because I can understand every word you’re harping on me, Nurse Ratched.” 

Meg growls as she gets to her feet before pacing around in a few tight circles, muttering to herself under her breath which is all well and good as far as Aaron is considered. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t wanna hear what she’s got to say anyway. 

What happens next, though, would probably knock him over if he weren’t already lying on a bed. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks, spinning to face him head on. And Aaron… well, to say he’s speechless would be both accurate and a severe understatement. 

“Y-you what?” he manages to ask eventually after merely gaping at her like a dying fish for a good, solid minute. 

“It’s a simple question, Aaron. Do. You. Have. A. Boyfriend?” 

“I’m sorry, maybe I do have permanent brain damage, because I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how we got from Point A to Point B here.” 

She pulls the orange plastic chair closer to the bed and plops down on it, her voice massively kinder than it was a few minutes ago as she says, “You’ve been all over the place, Aaron. I mean… you’ve been good for months… years, really. And then… I don’t know, then it all just changed. And you started hurting yourself but then… but _then_ you were… like… _great…_ Like, better than I’ve probably ever seen you, which is why I was just letting things lie. But then this-”

She motions violently at Aaron in his hospital gown, lying battered on the bed. 

“I just can’t figure it out, what it could be,” she says, her voice so defeated that he almost wants to tell her everything that’s been going on. 

Only almost though. 

“So you immediately jump to _Aaron must be seeing someone_ , eh?” he asks, trying for playful but failing miserably given how _miserable_ he feels. 

“Is this about Jackson?” she asks, knocking Aaron for six once again. And really, after a decade of knowing her, he should be used to this side of her. But every flaming time it catches him off guard. 

“Why would it be about Jackson?” he asks, half curious and half dreading whatever’s gonna come out of her mouth next. 

She sighs once, centering herself before taking his hand - that can’t be good - and saying, “Sometimes when people we love die-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Aaron interrupts, taking his hand out of hers so he can cross his arms over his bruised chest. “Who ever said I loved him?” 

Meg rolls her eyes at him. “Fine, sometimes when people we _care about_ die, we don’t let ourselves process it fully. We don’t let ourselves… you know… _move on_ because we feel guilty or whatever.” 

“Guilty or whatever? Sounds like you’ve been working a long time on this theory of yours.” 

“Oi, stop being a prat!” she reprimands him, smacking him on the leg which is probably the only part of his body not injured right now. “I’m trying to help here.”

“Well there’s nothing to help,” he says roughly. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Jackson isn’t holding me back from love,” he says, gagging a little inside at the sentiment of love, “and I’m not hurting myself. I just had an off day, okay?” 

“You really expect me to believe that?” she asks, her tone just as rough as his is. 

“I really don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth. Take it or leave it, that’s your choice.”

Meg opens her mouth to speak again, but in an unprecedented bit of good luck in his life, his doctor chooses that exact minute to enter the room. And by the time he’s finished giving his diagnosis - _mild concussion, multiple contusions, a night of observation in the hospital but then he’ll be right as rain -_ visiting hours are over and it’s time for Meg to leave. 

“Your fiance can stay if she likes,” the doctor proposes. 

But before Meg can open her big gob, Aaron cuts in with, “I wouldn’t want to put her out like that, seeing as how I’m just gonna be resting.” 

“I really don’t mind, sweetheart,” she replies through half-gritted teeth. 

“And I wouldn’t dream of it,” he bites back, garnering an odd look from the doctor. 

“Well, then, you can come by and pick him up in the morning,” the doctor says fake brightly as he ushers Meg out of the room. But even now, Aaron is thinking about the best taxi firm to come get him. 

~*~

Things don’t get better once he’s out of the hospital. If she’s not ignoring him outright, Meg is trying to lecture him on proper self-care, like as if that’s something Aaron gives a damn about. And seeing as how he has no other mates, his life becomes one monotonous night of work after another. 

He sleeps almost all day, every day. Eats very little and spends so much time in bed there’s an even deeper imprint of his body in the mattress than there was a week ago. And when he’s not sleeping, he’s wishing he was, even though most of that time is spent dreaming of Robert. 

_Robert._

Fuck him. 

He needs to break things up, shake some life back into him, and nothing else has worked so far. So he reaches out and tries an old friend he hasn’t seen in years. 

The knife is warm in his hand even though the steel is cold. It feels heavier than it used to, which is strange because he’d imagine he was stronger now. He’s not, he mustn’t be, and so the blade makes his arm ache with the weight of it. 

He promised Meg he’d never do this again. Years ago, so many he doesn’t even really remember, he _promised._ But if everyone else can break their promises, why can’t he? 

~*~

“Come in, son,” Cal says as he looks up from where he’d been going through paperwork on his desk at the club. 

“You texted?” Aaron asks stupidly because obviously Cal is well aware that he texted Aaron. He’s the one that sent the damn thing. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to have a little chat. Take a seat.” 

He feels every inch like he’s entering the headmaster’s office, which is not usually the way he feels around Cal. He’s acting weird, though, Cal is. More formal than normal, holding his cards close to his chest. And Aaron finds himself dreading whatever is gonna come next. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Aaron asks, his mind drifting to Emile, to the deal Emile brought back with him from France that Aaron hasn’t had the guts to show Cal yet. 

“What? No, of course not, Aaron. I just wanted to check in with you, see how you were doing.”

“Oh,” Aaron says, his mind still working double time as he adds, “I’m… um… fine.” 

“Really?” Cal asks suspiciously. “Because you’ve not been acting yourself lately.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Cal leans forward onto his desk in an effort to make him look more casual. One Aaron has seen a thousand times.

“Fighting with Meg, for starters,” he says, and the way he’s looking at Aaron right now… it feels like he can track every vein in Aaron’s body with just his eyes. 

“Who said I’m fighting with Meg?” 

He tips his head to the side. “My eyes did, son.” 

There’s a cavernous pause, one that Aaron is afraid he’ll fall into before Cal says, “Take a week off.” 

“I don’t want a week off,” Aaron bites out too quickly, unable to hide his desperation. 

“I don’t care, Aaron. Take a week off. Clear your head. Then we’ll see what we see.” 

Aaron stares back at Cal, so many objections running through his head. _The work gives me purpose,_ he wants to say. _The work distracts me from the freak show inside my head. The work is keeping me sane. The work is keeping me_ **_alive_** _._ But none of those are things that he can say to Cal and he knows it. 

Because when Cal’s makes a decision, the decision is _made._

~*~

He has to physically swallow down the bile as he stands outside the club, one of his old haunts on Lower Briggate that he swore to himself he’d never visit again. He needs this, though. He needs _something_ to feel alive, or more alive than dead, and this is the last thing he can imagine that might work. 

He almost can’t breathe at all as soon as he steps inside, the combination of the music and the press of bodies so overpowering it makes him dizzy. He navigates the dance floor on his own, though, staving off the advances of at least a dozen drunk, horny wrecks before finally finding some safety at the bar.

He’s going pure whiskey tonight, the cheapest, most potent stuff they’ve got. Because the only way he’s getting through this is if he’s at least halfway to annihilated. 

Someone slides in next to him about a half hour later, someone willing to weasel past the obvious barricades he’s got thrown up tonight, telling anyone within a twenty meter radius that he wants to be left alone even though that’s not why he came here. 

He can’t help it, though - the way he’s hunched over, the way his face is etched into a perpetual snarl, the way he’s huddled at the end of the bar like it’s the end of the world itself. 

His body language is working on a completely different wavelength than the rest of him, but _this bloke_ still pushes through the barriers. 

“I know you,” he says point blank, refusing to even waste so much as a second on something as low as flirting. 

Aaron takes a long drink from his glass before slamming it back on the bar. “Don’t think so, mate.” 

The guy moves closer, his breath reeking of even cheaper alcohol than Aaron is drinking, his body leaning in so that his mouth is right next to Aaron’s ear as he says, “You’re the bloke they talk about. The alley kid. The one that likes it rough.” 

He’s got his hand on Aaron’s crotch at that, and just about every single part of him wants to get up and run, leave this whole idea behind. But he can’t and he knows it, he _needs this_. 

And so he says, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?” before downing the rest of his whiskey and heading for the door to the alley. 

He’s shoved roughly against the wall as soon as he’s outside, but there’s nothing new there. Nor is there anything new with the voices in his head, with Gordon, telling him he deserves this, that he’s worthless. But right around the time he hears the nameless bloke’s zipper slide down, something weird happens. 

There’s another voice now, one that sounds like Robert, and one that’s actually louder than Gordon’s. And this one… _fuck_ this one is telling him he deserves better. That he deserves to be touched like his skin is made of fucking glass. That he doesn’t need to _do this._

So even though the voices are screaming so loud over each other, _at each other_ that he can hardly make out what they’re saying, he still knows which one he wants to listen to. Even if it’s only for tonight, he _knows_ who’s right and who is dead flipping wrong. 

So he says, “No.” He says, “Stop,” and tries to push himself free from the wall he’s been plastered to. 

“Is this part of the game?” the guy asks, his body still heavy against Aaron’s back. 

“No it’s part of you backing the fuck _off,"_ he bites out, giving one more shove, this one enough to send the guy spilling across the alley. 

“You know, no one likes a fucking tease,” the guy says, his voice dark, threatening. But even though the bloke’s got a good twenty or thirty kilos on him, Aaron knows with certainty that he can take him. 

The guy shoves him, _hard,_ pain radiating up and down his spine from the way he slams into the wall. But Aaron comes right back at him with a solid right hook to the prat’s nose, the sickening crack radiating through the night air telling him that if he didn’t break it, it was a very near thing. 

“You dirty little piece of shit,” the bloke says as he wipes blood from beneath his nose. “I’m gonna kill you for that.” 

Aaron almost laughs because right here, right now, he’s untouchable and he knows it. 

The bloke doesn’t kill him. Instead, he gets the living hell beaten out of him, leaving him in a coughing, bloody heap as Aaron aims one final kick to his gut and says, “Is that rough enough for ya?” because fuck him. 

Fuck everyone. 

~*~

He’s lost in a fog as he heads back into town, his feet carrying him wherever they want as his head buzzes with the adrenaline from the fight. 

It’s been a long time since he’s done that, beaten someone up outside of the ring. But it felt good tonight, liberating in a way he’s not used to. 

All of that liberation evaporates, though, when he finds himself outside of his warehouse, his eyes already stinging with tears as he makes his way inside, all the way back to the office, because Aaron is no longer in control of the boat here. 

He curls up on the sofa, feels the tears pressing hard behind his eyes, wanting to come out as he buries his face in the cushion and _breathes._

It takes him a good five minutes to realize what he’s trying to breathe in, _who_ he’s trying to breathe in. And once he does, the tears start slipping down his face like raindrops. 

He wants to hate him. Robert. Wants to put everything he’s got into hating his bloody guts. But for some reason, he can’t. For some insane reason the only thing he feels is _hurt._

That Robert betrayed him, but even worse, that in all the days since that moment Robert hasn’t _once_ tried to contact him like he’s just finished with him. Like it’s that easy. 

Like Aaron is a dead weight he couldn’t wait to drop. 

He thought Robert wanted him. He’s never been wanted that way before, that deeply. And it felt good, he can admit that now. _He_ felt good. But now? 

_Why would he want you?_ Gordon’s voice asks. _He could have anyone he wanted, and you honestly thought he’d pick a scarred up freak like you?_

“No,” Aaron says, the word quiet, weak as he curls further into himself, swiping angrily at the tears still spilling down his face. 

_You’re damaged goods, Aaron. The only reason anyone could ever want you is as a limp body to fuck, and even there you’re useless._

“ _No,_ ” he says, a bit louder this time as he presses his palms to his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. 

_Face it. You’re nothing. You always were nothing, and you’ll always be nothing. No one wants you, and no one ever will._

“No!” Aaron shouts as he sits up in his seat, striking out with his fists like Gordon’s actually there even though he isn’t. Even though he’ll never be again. 

_You’re going to die alone, and no one is going to miss you when you’re gone,_ the voice tries again, but Aaron counters it by getting to his feet, zipping his hoodie all the way up to his chin, and leaving the warehouse behind. 

He’s got some place he needs to be. 

~*~

There’s something interesting about Robert, Aaron thinks absently as he makes his way to Robert’s flat. Something warm in the way Robert actually makes him feel _good,_ like he’s not just trading one bad thing for another like everywhere else in his life. 

When he’s with Robert, he forgets for a few hours who he is, what he’s done, and what’s been done to him. And maybe that’s all been lost. Maybe Robert has moved on. Maybe Robert will hurt him again either way. But here, now, at this moment in his life, Aaron thinks he may just need him. 

It’s gotta be worth a try, doesn’t it? 

Someone’s leaving Robert’s building when Aaron gets there, so he gets to bypass the buzzer. It’s the middle of the night, though. Robert is probably fast asleep. Which means that by the time Aaron is standing outside his door, he’s having some serious misgivings about what he’s about to do. 

He knocks anyway, if only because he deserves to give Robert a piece of his mind. 

It takes a while for Robert to answer the door, and predictably he’s wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama pants and a confused expression when he does. But before Aaron can even get the words _you are such a prat_ past his lips, Robert is lunging at him. 

They’ve never really hugged before, not like this. Not like Aaron’s just returned from war and Robert is grateful he isn’t dead. But that’s what Aaron gets, arms and hands and bodies wrapped around one another in a way that totally scuttles everything he wanted to say to Robert regarding his mum, Emmerdale, and anything else. 

“I’m sorry,” Robert mumbles into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so, _so_ sorry. I never should have opened my stupid mouth. That was wrong of me. _Stupid_ of me. Stupid and wrong and… and _stupid_ of me, and if you never want to speak to me again I totally get it. I’m just… fuck, Aaron, I’m just so glad you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?” 

Robert pulls back at that, his voice a bit panicked as he holds Aaron at arm’s length and examines him for invisible injuries. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice quiet, shaking, and all Aaron can do is nod. Because Gordon’s voice has retreated to the corners of Aaron’s mind for the time being, and for the first time in almost two weeks, Aaron feels safe. 

“I was so worried that you were hurt,” Robert continues as he leans in, pressing his forehead to Aaron’s. “I couldn’t sleep from worry. I’m so… Aaron, I’m _so sorry_. I’ll never do anything like that again, I promise.”

Aaron snorts, a reaction that causes Robert to pull back in confusion as Aaron says, “Somehow I doubt that’s true.” 

A small smile creeps across Robert’s lips, the crooked one he uses whenever Aaron says or does something that surprises him. And it’s like another gear clicks into place. 

_You don’t deserve him,_ the voice says feebly. But maybe it’s enough that for now, he has him.

~*~

They’re lying in bed an hour or so later, still completely clothed, staring at each other as the silence curls around them like a warm blanket. 

Aaron’s eyes are drooping, the events of the day, the week, _his life_ weighing heavily on him, but Robert’s eyes are still wide open like he’s afraid Aaron will disappear if he shuts them. 

“I really am sorry,” he says, reaching out to rest his hand over Aaron’s forearm. 

Aaron shrugs, because that’s what Aaron always does when people apologize to him, like it doesn’t even matter. 

Robert seems to think it matters, though, his face stern as he tugs Aaron’s arm so they can hold hands as he says, “I broke a promise to you.”

“But you told me about it,” Aaron says blandly as he shrugs once again because he just can’t help himself. “You could’ve lied.” 

“Low expectations, eh?” Robert says with a humourless laugh, and Aaron… Aaron doesn’t really know what to do so he stays still, waits for Robert’s next move. 

It comes only a few seconds later. 

“Stay the night,” he says, his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of Aaron’s neck which is strange, because Robert doesn't do shy. 

“I can’t,” Aaron says, his voice sadder than he imagined it would be. 

Robert redoubles his efforts. “Look, I know you have a fiance, and I know you have this whole other life that you’re living, but I don’t think you understand how worried I was about you. How worried I still _am_ about you. And I don’t think… Aaron, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight if you’re not here with me. If I can’t be sure you’re safe.”

He takes a deep breath and looks back at Aaron like he’s just asked him to marry him or summat. 

It’s terrifying. But it’s also sorta… _not._

Aaron nods, because even though he knows it’s a bad idea, he still _wants it._ And so he nods, squeezes Robert’s hand, and agrees to spend the night because maybe, just for once, he can live like a normal person. 

Any hope of that is gone as they go to get ready for bed, as Robert goes to help him with his t-shirt and as Robert sees what Aaron’s done to himself since last they saw each other. 

Robert sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes zeroing in on the new cuts because _of course_ they would. He doesn’t look disgusted, though. Doesn’t look repulsed or angry or ill, he just looks _sad._

Somehow, that’s worse. 

Aaron tries to cover the worst of it up, but it’s already too late. The image is no doubt burned inside Robert’s brain. But Robert doesn’t let him hide away, he just circles Aaron’s wrist gently and pulls his arm back smoothly, _softly._

“Can I clean it?” he asks a few seconds later, and Aaron is so shocked by the request that he can’t process what it actually means. 

“The cut,” Robert adds, pointing at the largest, darkest, messiest one of the batch. “It just… it looks like it might be infected and I was wondering if I could-

  
“Yeah,” Aaron interrupts, rushing the word out before Robert can say another caring word. “I guess.” 

Aaron tips his head down at that, trying to hide his own shame, but Robert just hooks a knuckle under his chin and tips it back up. 

“Hey, look at me,” he says, and so Aaron does, reluctantly. 

“You’ve done what you had to do to survive,” he says so matter-of-factly that Aaron almost finds himself believing him. “And I for one am grateful for that.” 

“You don’t… you don’t think I’m weak?” Aaron asks, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can catch them. 

“Weak?” Robert asks on a surprised laugh. “You’re the strongest person I know.” And the way he tips Aaron’s head down again at that so he can kiss the top of it means everything to him right now. 

“You can tell me about them, you know,” Robert says cautiously once the kiss is over. “I won’t judge.” 

And all of a sudden, Aaron wants to. Wants to tell him everything. But he’s too raw right now, scraped down to the bone, and he doesn’t think he could survive much more than this. 

Robert nods at Aaron’s silence, kissing his forehead once before leaving the room, presumably to find a first aid kit, as Aaron sits on the edge of the bed and waits for him to return. 

“How come you didn’t find me?” Aaron asks as Robert begins to clean the wound. 

“Hmm?” he asks, looking up briefly with this soft, quizzical look on his face that just makes Aaron want to have him over and over again. 

“Why didn’t you text me? Track me down?” 

He squirms at his own question, not sure if he wants the answer. But all Robert does is smile at him and say, “Because you told me not to.” 

“And since when did you ever listen to anything I say?”

Robert tips his head, indicating that Aaron’s got a point, before saying solemnly, “You seemed like you meant it. And I’d already done something unforgivable. I figured I didn’t want to make it two-for-two. Did I mention yet how sorry I am?” 

Aaron smiles at him, an odd expression to be wearing as someone that’s not him cleans one of his cuts like he’s somehow worthy of care. His voice almost light as he responds, “Maybe once or twice.” 

Robert laughs. And Aaron feels something crack further open inside of him. 

They lie down after that, in the same positions they were in before, holding hands in between them as they stare into each other’s eyes like that’s somehow all they need. Words, actions, none of it’s important as long as they can do this. 

“You will stay, won’t you?” Robert says quietly, sleepily, what feels like a million years later. 

“Promise,” Aaron whispers back as he moves closer to Robert’s side of the dividing line. 

“Good,” Robert hums. “‘Cause I want to see how you look in the sunshine.” 

A tear slips out of Aaron’s eye at that, tracking down the side of his face as he closes the distance between them and buries his face in Robert’s neck, feeling something unfamiliar wash over his body as Robert’s arms wrap around him. 

Something that feels almost like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end of Part Two! This is roughly the halfway point of the story (at least of what I wrote down for my initial plot outline), but for all I know the second half could blow up into a hundred thousand words. I guess we shall see!!! 
> 
> Wanted to take this breaking point, though, to say a quick thank you to everyone that’s been sticking through this with me, especially those of you willing to share your own personal stories. You’re all superheroes! <3


	13. Every Little Thing

Robert never wanted this. The first time he saw Aaron, he didn’t envision sunlight streaming over his face. He didn’t imagine an ache in his gut so powerful that it spreads all the way to his fingertips, straining to touch. 

Robert wanted from Aaron what he’s always wanted from everyone else - next to nothing. A bit of fun, a good night or two, but in the end, hardly anything worth speaking of. Even with Chrissie, with all her money and prestige and power, from _her_ , as an actual person, Robert sought out that same emptiness he pulled from his affairs. 

How the hell did he get here then, lying next to a fast-asleep Aaron, tracing the lines of the sun cast over his peaceful face while thinking about lips, the curve of which he has burned into his memory? 

He’d tried to walk away, back when Aaron first had done a few weeks ago. He’d told himself it was a good thing, that there was too much weight to carry with someone like Aaron, more pain than he could possibly bear if he kept pressing forward. 

He’d even tried to go out on the pull with Clive, but every time someone so much as spoke to him, he felt this wrench in his chest like he was somehow cheating on a person that no longer wanted him. 

He was married to Chrissie for years, almost all of which involved him sleeping with one person or another that wasn’t his wife, and never _once_ did he feel this kind of… this kind of _loyalty._ An emotion that turns his stomach at the same time that it makes him feel light as air. 

He’d tried to walk away, he swears he did, but the fact of the matter is, he couldn’t. Aaron’s dug himself under his skin already, burrowed in so deep no surgeon’s scalpel would be able to cut him out. And the most terrifying part of it all is that he is exactly where Robert wants him to be, pumping through his veins and resting right up against his beating heart. 

He closes his eyes, wonders if this is some sort of dream. If he opens his eyes again, will Aaron be there, still curled on his side next to him? Or will he be gone, the same way he always is?

In and out, one and done, these are the words that have defined their… their _this_ up until this point. But maybe… maybe last night meant something. After all, Aaron had come back, hadn’t he? 

He’d come back to him. 

His eyes fly open at the sound of his phone buzzing against the wood of his side table, causing him to turn over so he can reach both hands out to silence it as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the sound doesn’t wake Aaron. But as a slight bit of bad luck, he realizes that the call is coming in from his work. 

What bloody time is it? 

_Late,_ his mind supplies. Or lat _er_ anyway, later than he’s usually still at home. And before the decision even settles into his conscious mind, he’s out of bed and heading into the sitting room to call his boss back and tell him he’s not coming in today. 

Robert can count the days of work he’s missed on one hand, and all five of them were for his honeymoon, which means he’s due a bit of respite, isn’t he? And sure, Aaron will probably bolt as soon as he wakes up and Robert will end up spending the day at home alone. But there’s also a chance - however slim - that Robert’s plan will work. That Aaron will _stay._

And if that’s a possibility, Robert will give up all the sick days in the world. 

~*~

Robert is in the middle of making scrambled eggs when he hears footsteps coming up behind him, the distinct sound of bare feet on wood, and Robert’s going to take that as a good sign. 

Aaron hasn’t put on socks and shoes yet. In fact, he hasn’t put on much of anything yet as Robert notices when he turns around and sees Aaron standing in his kitchen in nothing but his boxers and the jumper Robert had been wearing the day before, last seen draped over the chair next to his bed. 

Aaron looks good in his clothes, better even than Robert does. He looks so good, in fact, that Robert is seriously considering offering him his entire wardrobe if he promises to model the outfits for him, one by one. 

“Morning. Sleep well?” Robert asks as cheerily as he can, given that it’s only half seven and he is not, nor will he ever be, a morning person. 

Aaron tugs at the front of the jumper before pulling the sleeves down over his hands and saying a quiet, “Yeah, cheers.” 

There’s something off about Aaron right now, something shut down that Robert notices immediately. But he knows not to push, so instead he says, “Scrambled eggs?” and hopes desperately that this isn’t the moment where Aaron decides to walk out of his life for good. 

Aaron stares at him for a few seconds, his eyes distant but still searching like they’re looking for a way home. And Robert swears that he can feel his heart break open inside his chest when Aaron slips the corner of his lip between his teeth and nods. 

Robert expels a gust of air from an aching chest, not even noticing that he’d been holding his breath in anticipation of Aaron’s response. And then he’s turning away from Aaron, half because his eggs smell like they’re about to burn and half because he just has to. 

Sometimes looking at Aaron is like looking into the bleeding sun. And right now, Robert can’t take the patches of darkness that follow such a foolish action.

“Breakfast should be ready in about ten minutes,” he announces, taking careful notice of the fact that Aaron hasn’t taken one step since he entered the kitchen. “You can clean up in the loo if you like. There’s extra toothbrushes in the cupboard.”

“Thanks,” Aaron says in response, but the word is pulled taut, like it means something else. Something Robert doesn’t get a chance to ask about because one moment later Aaron is leaving the kitchen, presumably in search of a toothbrush and some privacy. 

Something strikes him as he’s adding cheese to the eggs. Images from last night assaulting his thought while his mind drifts to the razor he keeps next to the sink. And he almost makes a run for the loo at the realization. 

He needs to trust him, though, that much Robert is sure of. He doesn’t get what he does, can’t possibly grasp how someone could do something like that to themself, over and over. He wants to shake him, wanted to cry out last night about how Aaron was hurting himself, how he had to stop. 

But he got the distinct feeling that none of that would help in the slightest and so he stays at the hob and tells himself what he told himself last night as he’d cleaned Aaron’s latest self-inflicted wound. 

All he can do is be here for him in whatever way Aaron needs. 

Aaron returns right as Robert is plating up the food. And even though Robert knows for a fact that Aaron is not a fruit and vegetable sort of person, he still adds a small dish of strawberries and raspberries to Aaron’s meal of eggs and potatoes, even if it’s only to see him turn his nose up at them. 

It reminds him of a rabbit, the face Aaron makes when Robert tries to sneak healthy things into his food. But Aaron must have been raised right because he still politely eats them every time. 

“So, got any plans for today?” Robert asks once Aaron starts tucking into his food. 

The question has been gnawing at him ever since he called in sick. And he figures the sooner he gets it out and hears an answer, the better. 

Aaron looks up at him, his eyes somehow bluer in the daylight pouring in through Robert’s wide-open curtains but his expression mostly blank as he shrugs his shoulders and looks back down at his food. 

That was helpful. 

“Because I was thinking,” Robert strikes out again, “if you were up for it, we could maybe spend the day here… you know, hang out? Have a go at being normal? I reckon we both need that.” 

Aaron looks up at him again, still only communicating with his facial expressions. This time a lovely gem of confusion mixed with mild disdain that he finally adds words to. 

“What’s normal?” 

Right. Doubly helpful. 

Robert waves his hands vaguely in the air. “Just having a beer together, watching a DVD, ordering a pizza. Just hanging out in general. No pressure. It’s got to be worth a go, surely?” 

Robert can feel actual beads of sweat along his hairline, pinpricks of it at the base of his neck. And it’s not like they haven’t had meals together, or watched football or Top Gear or BBC News in the background while they made out. But Robert is angling for something different here. He’s asking for a whole _day._ And he really, really, _really_ wants Aaron to say yes. 

Aaron shrugs again, still so bloody _helpful,_ but the next words out of his mouth are like music to Robert’s ears: “Yeah, when you put it like that.”

When he puts it like that. Success! 

Robert gets Aaron a pair of trackies once he’s cleaned up the breakfast dishes, and the way they slide down around Aaron’s feet like slippers makes something warm curl in Robert’s belly. It’s not sexual, though, which is weird. Aaron is in his flat, wearing his clothes, and Robert hasn’t even considered trying it on. That’s bloody _weird._

It’s not because he doesn’t want to, though. Or rather, it’s not because he doesn’t want _him._ All Aaron has to do is breathe and Robert wants him. He just… wants more today. Wants different. Wants _real,_ and Robert, as has been established, is not a _real_ sort of person. 

There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. 

~*~

Robert isn’t eavesdropping. He’s just… well… okay, so maybe he is eavesdropping a little bit. But in his defense, it’s all Aaron’s fault. 

Ever since Aaron mentioned his fiance, he hasn’t spoken about her. Not _once._ And sure, Robert hasn’t exactly asked, but that was only because he didn’t want to pry. And, of course, because he didn’t care in the long run anyway, Aaron’s business and all that. Which doesn’t really explain what he’s doing right now. 

How he’s hanging about in the hallway outside his bedroom, just close enough to hear Aaron talking presumably to his fiance through the crack in the bedroom door. It doesn’t explain how he’s straining to catch every word Aaron speaks, or how his heart is pounding wildly in his chest as he listens. But Robert is too busy to worry about explanations. 

He’s got a conversation to not-eavesdrop upon. 

“Cal gave me some time off so I thought I’d get out of town for a while,” Aaron says, his voice muffled but still clear enough for Robert to catch how heavy it sounds, like just explaining his fake whereabouts is a monumental task to him. 

There’s a pause, presumably so his fiance can ask a question, the answer of which is, “I’m in Manchester, at Matt’s.” He pauses again. “What do you mean it doesn’t sound like I’m in Manchester? What exactly does Manchester sound like?” 

Robert holds his breath, waiting for Aaron to be properly caught out in the lie, but all that comes after the next pause is a resigned, “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’ll stop being a prat.” 

It’s weird, hearing Aaron apologise like that. But what’s even weirder is how warm and caring he sounds when he says, “I’m not mad at you, I promise. And I’m okay. It’s got nothing to do with you. I just needed to get away for a few days, that’s all. We’re good, I swear.” 

Robert aches at Aaron’s words, but he flat out refuses to believe it’s because he wants them to be directed at him, not at this faceless woman that will eventually be Aaron’s wife. 

He’s almost got himself settled on that thought when the final knife twists in Robert’s gut. 

“I love you, too,” Aaron says, so softly it feels like each word is carving off a separate piece of Robert’s soul and flushing it down the toilet. But then he reminds himself of one key point: Aaron is _here,_ with _him._ He’s not at home with his fiance. In fact, he’s lying to her, pretending to be in Manchester so he can spend the day with Robert. And that… 

Well that’s something at least, isn’t it? 

~*~

“It’s about robots?” Aaron asks incredulously as he blinks owlishly at Robert. 

“Not, like, _robot_ robots, like big metal clunky things. They look and feel and act like humans.”

“And they live… in a theme park?” Aaron continues digging, his face the picture perfect representation of the word _why._ As in _why are you asking me to watch this again?_

“Oh, just watch it,” Robert responds, throwing his proverbial hands in the air as he sticks in the first disc of Westworld season one, the only thing in his film and television collection that he thought Aaron might even remotely like. 

“You’ll love it, I promise,” Robert adds with a wide smile as he looks back at Aaron over his shoulder. But it’s a weak promise if anything. He’s got no idea what Aaron likes outside of _programs about cars._ And if there’s one thing Westworld _doesn’t_ have, it’s that. 

Maybe this was the wrong choice after all. 

He’s in it now, though. He even spent a solid ten minutes explaining the program to a blank-faced Aaron, bigging it up as much as possible. So really, he’s got no other choice here. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. 

~*~

By the end of episode two, it seems as if Aaron is actually enjoying himself a little bit. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Robert’s part. Either way, he hasn’t walked out or fallen asleep, so things are working out pretty well if Robert does say so himself. 

“Want some snacks?” he asks as the title sequence for the next episode begins to play. “I can make some popcorn? Bring out some beers?” 

It’s not even eleven, but Aaron seems like the type of person that wouldn’t mind having a beer or two before noon. A fact proven by the way he looks at Robert and gives an all-encompassing nod before turning back to the television screen. 

Aaron has barely said a dozen words all morning, that weight Robert noticed earlier still ever-present. But his body language has gotten slightly more open since the day started, his shoulders a little more relaxed, his legs curled up beneath him instead of his feet planted flat on the floor. 

And if beggars can’t be choosers, Robert will take that over the alternative any day. Over Aaron, a mess of loss and anguish, showing up at his door in the middle of the night looking half dead and in more pain than that. 

“Popcorn and beers it is!” Robert exclaims as he slaps his hands on his own thighs before getting to his feet and heading into the kitchen. 

He watches Aaron as the corn pops in the pot. Takes in the way his hair is still mussed up from sleeping on it funny, the way he slides down a bit further into the sofa as the episode progresses, twisting back and forth a bit until he finds a comfortable position. 

It’s a rush, seeing Aaron like this, in his clothes, on his furniture, just watching telly. Not rushing to get naked, or rushing to get clothed again, just _existing_ next to Robert like there was always a hole in his flat the perfect size for Aaron to slide into, he just didn’t know it. 

The acrid smell of a few burnt kernels reaches his nose, causing him to dive for the pot, practically burning himself in his haste not to ruin the entire batch. It looks delicious though, tastes delicious as well as he takes a sampling, just to be sure. And then he pours it into a bowl and grabs a few beers before heading back to the sofa. 

He’s still staring at Aaron on his way back, his gaze so intent that he doesn’t notice the throw pillow Aaron has, at some point, tossed to the floor before he’s literally tripping over it. 

The popcorn goes _everywhere_ as Robert falls to his knees, just managing to keep the open beers from spilling as well. And he’s just about to curse at the injustice of it all when he hears a sound that makes his skin come alight. 

Aaron snorts, and even though the noise makes the corners of Robert’s lips quirk up, he still says, “Don’t you dare.” 

Aaron counters with a small huff that’s so bloody _cute_ Robert almost can’t stand it. 

“I’m warning you, Aaron.” 

Aaron doesn’t take notice of the warning, though, he just sputters until he’s practically doubled over with laughter. And Robert tries to resist, he really does, but his sitting room is covered in popcorn, he’s still holding two bottles of beer precariously, trying to keep them from spilling all over his thousand pound rug, and Aaron is _laughing,_ cackling, really. And so all the self control in the world wouldn’t be able to stop Robert from joining in. 

He manages to put the bottles safely on the coffee table before wrapping his arms around his stomach, trying to hold in the laughter that just keeps spilling out in wave upon wave as Aaron leans forward in his seat and keeps going like mad, his face turning bright pink from the strain. 

“You’re such… you’re such an infant,” Robert manages to accuse eventually. 

Aaron’s eyes are sharp, so very blue and _alive_ when they look back at Robert that he can hardly breathe when he says, “I’m not… not the one who d-doesn’t know how… how to walk, mate.” 

He’s got a point, but whatever it is is lost in the swell of fondness that Robert is feeling right now, pressing on the inside of his ribs, filling his chest like a balloon as he watches Aaron slowly come back down again only this time, the smile doesn’t leave his face. And Robert has a good idea that it’s got nothing to do with Westworld. 

~*~

“Where are you?” Clive hisses into the phone an hour or so later. 

Aaron is still on the sofa, watching the telly and munching on the popcorn Robert had spent ten minutes picking up off the floor, Aaron refusing to help because, and he quotes, “I’m not the idiot who spilled it.” 

“Where do you think I am?” Robert says quietly as he closes his bedroom door firmly, a lesson he learned from his own prying earlier. “I’m at home. Didn’t Jenkins tell you I was taking a sick day?” 

“Of course he did. But you’re _never_ sick, or on vacation, or anywhere but _here._ So I figured you were either dying or you’d pulled someone worthy of a lie-in. Either way, I want to know.” 

Robert bites his lip and thinks of the latter half of Clive’s guess, how true it actually is, and how much he needs to keep that truth to himself. So he says, “I think I have a bug of some sort. I’ve been locked in the loo all morning.” 

“Pfft!” Clive retorts. “You really sound done in, Sugden.” 

Robert rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. “Believe what you like, Clive. But I’m really quite ill here, and that’s the only reason why I’m not at work.” 

There’s a long pause on the line before Clive finally says, “Fine. But I’ll get the real story out of you eventually, mark my words.” And then he’s hanging up. Which is only half a relief today because when Clive wants to find something out, he rarely stops digging until he does. 

“Who was that?” Aaron asks when Robert returns to his place on the sofa. Aaron’s eyes sliding over to him as the show continues to play in the background. 

“It was just Clive. Wondering where I was.” 

Aaron purses his lips and nods. “So what’d you tell him?” 

Robert almost makes a joke of it, saying something like, “That I was home with a likely closeted, engaged drug dealer that I’m hurtling toward falling for, watching Westworld and pretending like I don’t just want to curl around his body like a koala and hold him tight.” 

He doesn’t think the joke would land the way Robert would intend it to, though, so instead he just says, “I told him I’ve been vomiting all morning,” and leaves it at that. 

Aaron nods again before shoving another handful of the now cold popcorn into his mouth before turning back to the telly. And that, apparently, is that. 

No more questions asked. 

~*~ 

They spend the entire day eating junk food, every crisp, biscuit and chocolate Robert can find in his flat, only leaving the sofa for food and bog breaks. And so before they know it, it’s tea time and they’ve almost knocked out the entire first season of Westworld. 

The time has gone too fast for Robert’s liking. He’s not sure how much longer Aaron will stay, when he’ll put his own clothes back on and retreat like Cinderella at the ball. But as the sun starts to inch down the sky, the pit in Robert’s stomach gets wider and wider. 

What will they be after today? Is this going to change them? And if so, will it be for the better or the worse? 

He tries not to think about that while Aaron is still next to him, tries not to think about _anything_ but the way he smells, mixed with all the scents of Robert’s flat. But it’s hard not to look at Aaron sitting on his furniture and remember what it was like when he wasn’t there. 

“What would you like for tea?” he asks as they both walk like zombies into the kitchen in search of real food. 

“I… I could make something if you like?” Aaron says shyly from behind him, his voice so timid it makes Robert ache. 

“You cook?” he asks as he turns to face him, getting an eyeroll in return as Aaron crosses his arms over his chest and says petulantly, “Yes, I know how to cook, Robert.” 

_That’s better,_ Robert thinks. That’s the Aaron he knows and lo… likes. The Aaron he knows and likes. The one that makes him cross his own arms before saying in challenge, “It’s all yours then.” 

This should be interesting. 

It turns out that when Aaron said that he knows how to cook, he meant… well… the complete opposite actually. Robert has plenty of proof to base this assessment on, like the chicken that comes out both chewy and crispy somehow, the spinach that turns into a pot of green mush, and the potatoes that are so hard in the middle Robert practically cracks a tooth on them. 

“It’s good,” he lies as he tries to work his way through another bite of chicken. 

Aaron just stares at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion before he mumbles out a quick, “Shut up,” and shoves another lethal potato into his mouth. 

“No, really Aaron, it’s quite… adventurous,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him that he couldn’t stop even if he tried. 

“I’ll show you adventurous,” Aaron replies before chucking a piece of potato at his head. And that is how the two of them get into an actual food fight in the middle of Robert’s pristine marble kitchen. 

Everything is a mess by the time they finish, but Aaron is pink again from laughing, and Robert’s stomach hurts from the same, his face stretched so wide he feels like he’s going to do permanent damage as he looks out at Aaron and thinks three words he knows he’ll never, ever say to him. 

Because Aaron isn’t his, he never was. And even if this fiance didn’t exist, there’s no telling that Aaron would even want Robert in the first place. And so all Robert can do is wipe a stray piece of spinach from Aaron’s temple and smile softly at him, counting down the minutes until Aaron once again walks out his door. 

~*~

They take separate showers, not because of any talked-about reason. It’s just natural, Robert letting Aaron go first because Robert is polite like that, when he wants to be. 

When he gets out of the shower, Aaron is lying on Robert’s bed, wearing a pair of Robert’s boxers and nothing else as he stares up at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the universe. 

“What are you listening to?” Robert asks as he lies next to him, staring up as well and pretending that there’s a galaxy of stars up there, blanketing them with their glow. 

“Mmm?” Aaron asks, turning to face Robert with a dazed look on his face. 

“Your music,” he adds, pointing at the phone laid out next to Aaron’s ear. 

“Oh, it’s the Arctic Monkeys. You like ‘em?” 

There’s a hopeful lilt to Aaron’s voice, like he’s really wishing that he and Robert have this in common. But Robert is Robert so he says, “I’ve never heard of them.” 

Aaron nods, turning back to the ceiling as Robert adds, “But they sound… good,” the last word coming out a little strained as he tries to pick out the right adjective to use. 

He feels so old right now. And even though he’s only a few years older than Aaron, that doesn’t change the way Aaron sometimes makes him feel ancient. 

Aaron looks at him again, though, smiles this sort of wistful, soft smile that makes all Robert’s worries just fly away before he nods and returns to whatever soul searching Robert’s ceiling was aiding him in. 

And Robert. Well Robert returns to his imaginary stars. 

~*~ 

At first, Robert thinks he’s imagining it, that it’s a trick of his subconscious, leaking through the barriers. But it pulls him out of sleep on a gradual incline, the sound does. It drags him step by step until he’s opening his eyes to the blackness of his room punctuated only by the slim rays of moonlight sneaking through the drawn curtains. 

It takes another minute for him to place the sound, a minute further than that to realize where it’s coming from. Which means that Aaron spends at the bare minimum two minutes in his arms, whimpering like a terrified child. 

He tries to gently shake him awake, saying his name over and over in the softest whisper he owns. But his ministration seems to be utterly ineffective. In fact, if anything it seems to be making matters _worse,_ making the noises louder, making Aaron move, twist and turn in his arms like he’s trapped in chains hurtling towards the bottom of the sea. 

“Aaron,” Robert tries again, a little louder this time. But when he touches Aaron’s hip to try and settle him, the word “No!” shrieks so loud from within Aaron that it sounds like it’s coming from another person entirely. 

“Don’t touch me!” he yells, his eyes still closed as he warns off someone other than Robert. Someone hiding behind closed eyelids, someone Robert can’t see and so someone Robert can’t fight. 

“Aaron, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he tries again, moving his hands to Aaron’s shoulders in the hopes that that’ll help. But Aaron still screams to not be touched, his fingers turning to weapons now as he begins clawing at Robert’s bare chest so hard he’s likely to draw blood. 

Robert’s own pain is the least of his worries, though. He needs to wake Aaron up, needs to pull him back to the here and now, and the only way he can think to do that is through violent wrenching. 

So he grabs Aaron’s shoulders tighter, shakes him once, twice, _seven times_ before his eyes finally snap open, pointed directly at Robert. 

Robert’s heart breaks at how scared he still looks, his body aching to reach out, to make things better. But he heard what Aaron was shouting and so he knows the best thing he can do is back off. Which is exactly what he does. 

He turns the light on once he’s up in the top corner of the bed, his body pulled to the side so that there’s plenty of space between his and Aaron’s. And something about the light must soothe Aaron because the horror seems to melt from his expression like an ice cube on warm pavement.

That is, of course, until he sees Robert. 

“Did I,” he stutters as he points at Robert’s chest, currently covered with the marks of Aaron’s nightmare. “D-did I d-do… d-do that?” 

“Aaron,” Robert says softly, _pleadingly,_ as he reaches out for Aaron’s hand. But he pulls back before Robert can make contact, the words, “Don’t touch me,” slipping from his lips only they’re different this time. They’re more pained, more sad, more _broken._ And Robert wishes beyond all reason that he could just _do something_ right now. 

In the end, he does nothing as Aaron scurries off the bed, the sound of the ensuite door slamming and locking startling Robert from whatever little bit of sleep still remained lingering at the edges of his consciousness. 

He sits completely still for a few long minutes, trying not to think of what Aaron might be doing on the other side of that door. His heart still pounding from adrenaline as he wracks his brain for something, _anything_ that might make this better. 

He goes to the door eventually, slides down until he’s sat on the floor, his knees pulled to his still burning chest as he rests his back against the door and says, “My mum died in a fire when I was a kid.” 

He waits a minute, holds his breath for a reaction he knows will never come before he continues. 

“After… well, _after,_ I used to have these nightmares. It was like… like I was trapped in the fire, too. Like I couldn’t save her… like I couldn’t even save _me._ ” 

He pauses again and takes a deep breath, trying not to allow the images from those nightmares to come back and surround him again, _bury_ him again the same way he’d had to bury his mother. 

“I used to lash out,” he says as a shiver runs down his spine, his arms wrapping tighter around his legs, pulling them closer to his chest. “And one night I punched my brother right in the face.” 

The image plays out in his mind, the one that painted itself as he turned on his bedside lamp. Andy, on the floor, holding his hand to his face. His father, looming in the doorway, a look of disappointment and anger etched across his features. 

“Not that I feel too cut up about it now, mind,” he says, trying for light but clearly missing the mark if the hitch in his voice is any indication. “It’s just… I just wanted you to know that if you’re worried about what you… what you did, it’s okay. You can’t help what you dream.” 

He lets the silence wash over him again, wishing beyond any sense of reason that Aaron will open the door and fall into his arms again. And even though he only gets half the dream, eventually Robert hears the click of the lock. 

He gets to his feet, waits for Aaron to open the door and tries to just keep breathing before the hinges creak and he’s looking at Aaron, silhouetted by the light of the bedside lamp. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says hoarsely as he looks down at Robert’s chest. But Robert is shaking his head before Aaron can even get the words out. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just want to know that _you’re_ okay.”

Aaron nods, but whether that nod means he’s okay or something else entirely, Robert doesn’t know. And furthermore, he’s too afraid to ask. 

“Do you want to lie down?” Robert asks, so gently it’s as if he feels Aaron will shatter if he presses too hard. 

Aaron nods again, walking across Robert so he can curl up on his side of the bed. 

Robert mirrors his pose, the pair of them facing each other like they had last night, just studying one another before Robert leans back to turn off the light. 

“Could we,” Aaron says, stopping Robert and forcing him to turn back to face Aaron. 

“Could we leave it on?” 

Robert smiles, wishes so badly that he could run his fingers through Aaron’s hair, and says, “‘Course we can.” 

They go back to staring at each other once Robert is lying down again, their eyes locked on one another’s as the night ticks by around them. But just as Robert thinks Aaron’s about to give up and let sleep take him, his voice fills the space between them once again. 

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Aaron whispers, so quiet as to barely be heard. 

“You want to?” Robert asks, unable to hide the hope in his voice. 

Aaron nods, lets his eyes remain locked on Robert’s as he smiles ever so slightly and says, “I wanna see Westworld season two.” 

Robert laughs a little, a release of tension that makes his blood feel like warm water as he says, “I knew you liked it.”

Aaron inches a little bit closer to Robert, his lips still bearing that soft, private smile, and says, “Yeah, whatever. It’s better than watching the news.” 

Robert laughs again, grateful that they can do this now, so close to what came before. His chest aching from how much it’s swelling as Aaron adds, “You don’t have to work or anything?” 

Robert moves closer to him, close enough for his fingers to drag gently over the backs of Aaron’s hands when he says, “I’ve got all the vacation days in the world.” 

He holds back the _for you,_ isn’t ready to make declarations like that just yet. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel _Aaron,_ tattooed onto his very bones. 

Because Robert never wanted this, but now that he’s got it, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: Due to my taking some extra work shifts for a friend who has COVID, I won’t be able to get the next chapter out by Wednesday. With any luck, I’ll have it finished by the end of the week, though. In the meantime, I hope this chapter tides everyone over nicely.


	14. Busted

Aaron spends three straight days in Robert’s flat pretending he’s someone else. That he’s the type of person that can have this, a… a life or whatever. That he’s free enough to just be _normal,_ a word whose definition still escapes him. 

That’s what they do, though. They _do normal._ They watch telly together and cook together and eat together and sleep together. And never once in all of that does Robert kiss him or touch him in a way that’s sexually explicit. 

_Normally,_ that would disturb Aaron, would make him feel unwanted, dirty, _wrong._ But somehow Aaron knows that Robert isn’t like that, that Robert likes _him,_ and so it’s okay if he and Aaron aren’t always going at it. Which means that the three days in Robert’s flat, with their zero pressure and no expectations, are some of the best, most relaxing ones he’s ever experienced.

Of course eventually, he has to go back to the real world. Because Aaron doesn’t live in Robert’s world, not really. So all he can ever do is visit from time to time, take what he can get while he’s there, and hold onto it for as long as possible. 

Robert hugs him goodbye when he leaves, a lingering thing that should feel claustrophobic but doesn’t. He even cups his face and kisses his forehead, lingering there as well. But as they make plans to see each other the very next night, right here in the very same place once Aaron is back on work rotation, Aaron can’t help but feel like something has changed. 

He doesn’t know what yet, but he hopes it’s good despite past experience teaching him to expect the opposite. 

There’s a tingle at the back of his neck as he walks away from Robert’s flat that morning, one that feels like the distinct pressure of eyes on him. He’s just being paranoid, though. Everyone he knows thinks he’s in Manchester right now, and even if they suspected that he were still in the city, there’d be no reason for them to stake out Robert’s flat in search of him. 

There’s no one watching him but himself, no one stalking him but his own demons. And so the eyes boring into his back might as well belong to a ghost. Aaron’s certainly got enough of those. 

He’s able to sneak into the house with zero detection, creeping through empty rooms and even emptier hallways until he reaches his bedroom where, predictably, his luck runs out. 

“Aaron! You’re back!” Meg screeches as she bounds off the bed, dives across the room and chucks herself bodily at Aaron. 

He is back. But right about now, with her arms practically choking him, he’s wishing he weren’t. 

“Meg… need… breathe,” he gasps as he tries to pry her off of him. But all she does is hug him tighter for a second, bury her face into his neck and sob, which is just bloody terrific. 

He wasn’t expecting tears. 

“Seriously,” Aaron bites out when he finally gets Meg to disengage. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Are _you_ trying to kill _me_?” she asks with a slap against his chest that actually hurts, not like he’d admit it. 

“What do you mean? You’re the one that attacked me.” 

“And you’re the one that disappeared off the face of the planet for three days without so much as a flipping _how do you do._ ” 

“I told you I was at,” Aaron starts to say, but Meg just glares at him and hisses the words, “Don’t you dare,” before he can finish his sentence. 

“What?” Aaron asks, legitimately stumped. 

“I called Matt, Aaron. You weren’t anywhere _near_ his flat.” 

“You’re checking up on me?” he asks, affronted, his arms rising to cross over his chest in the international sign of _how dare you._

“I wouldn’t _have_ to check up on you if you didn’t _lie_ to me.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have to _lie_ to you if you weren’t an invasive-”

He stops himself just short of saying the word _cow,_ because even if he meant it - which he doesn’t - saying it right now would be tantamount to poking a flaming bear. 

Instead, he says, “You know I hate it when you do that, Meg. I’m not a flipping kid.”

“Well sometimes you act like one,” she says petulantly, hugging her stomach as she pouts at Aaron with every single inch of her body. Seriously. Even her feet are pouting. 

“Well that’s a matter of opinion,” he shoots back. 

“Yeah, _my_ opinion,” she counters. And really, the two of them could do this all day. They have done before, in fact, verbally sparring until they’re both exhausted and neither one can even remember what they were fighting about in the first place. 

So in the interest of _not_ doing that again, he says, “I’m sorry,” because if he digs down deep enough, he probably is. 

Maybe. 

The magic words work, judging by the way her entire posture just sags, her eyes going all soft and Bambi-like as she opens her arms and says, “I’m sorry, too.” 

“No,” he says quickly before she can get her arms around him again, shooting his hand out to grab her shoulder, refusing to let her close. And he means it from the bottom of his heart when he adds, “We don’t need to do that again,” because they don’t. 

He’s still trying to remember Robert’s hug from earlier. He doesn’t need Meg messing up the memory with her own grabby hands. 

“Okay. Message received,” she says playfully as she raises her hands and backs away, hopping up on the bed when she gets there and crossing her legs like she’s waiting for him to tell her a story. “So are you going to tell me where you’ve been? Or do I need to get out my brazen bull?” 

He rolls his eyes and heads over to the bed, lying down width-wise beside her and groaning, “You and your flipping medieval history. You’re so weird.” 

“Matter of opinion,” she says cheekily as she lies down next to him. 

“Matter of _fact,_ ” he counters. And, just like always, the way she digs her finger into his side to tickle him doesn’t fail in making him smile. 

They lie silently for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s company, before the clearing of Meg’s throat signals the next round of interrogation. 

“Why won’t you tell me where you were?” she asks quietly, the question like a soft nudge this time as opposed to the all out headbutt she normally employs. 

And maybe that’s why he does it, why he opens his mouth and lets the words, “I was with my boyfriend,” fall out. 

Wait. 

What did he just say? 

He’s never really had a proper boyfriend, not since Jackson and he doesn’t really count. So he doesn’t even know if he and Robert _are_ boyfriends, has no clue how Robert would react to hearing Aaron say that. So why the hell did _he_ say it? 

Meg sits up slowly, her head turning to the side like she’s in the flaming Exorcist, her jaw unhinging as it opens gradually, almost to the point of snapping off. And then…

Then the squealing starts. 

“Oh my _god,_ Aaron, did you… did you just say the word _boyfriend_? With a straight face?!” She begins shaking him there, her voice inching up by the decibel as she continues. “How… why… where… _what is going on here? How do you have a boyfriend? Tell me every single thing about him right now!_ ” 

He guesses he’s leaning into this. It’s Meg, right? What could it hurt telling Meg, even if it doesn’t turn out to be true? 

He blinks up at her, his expression hooded because even though he wants to tell her what he views to be the truth, there are _levels_ to that truth, most of which he doesn’t want to visit with her. So instead he says, “He’s a bloke, he’s good in the sack, and he’s got a nice flat.” 

Meg growls at him. “That is, in no way, enough, mister… mister _has a boyfriend._ I need _details,_ Aaron. Name. Age. Appearance. Economic status. How you met. Where you met. Where he lives. Where he’s from. I don’t think you understand how much I _need to know_ these things.”

He sits up at that, scooches to the top of the bed so he can rest up against their padded headboard, his arms draped over his pulled-up knees as he says, “His name is Robert. He’s probably somewhere around thirty, I guess. He’s well fit, flush with cash, and the rest is none of your flaming business.” 

She squints one eye at him, weighing up her options before shrugging and saying, “I guess that’ll have to be enough.” Tacking on, “For now,” when Aaron’s face gets a tad too relaxed. And then she’s squealing again, tackling him to the bed and tickling him mercilessly while saying daft things like, “I’m so happy for you,” and “If anyone deserves this it’s you.” 

As if. 

She’s so full of it he can hardly stand it. Nor can he really stand the tickling, so he does his best to shake her off. She just keeps coming after him harder, though, eventually moving her fingers to the hem of his t-shirt and Aaron…

Well, Aaron doesn’t react well to that, to put it mildly. 

He’s always been honest with Meg. Hell, he sleeps in just his boxers more nights than not, so she knows every scar that graces his body. She doesn’t know this, though - doesn’t know that he’s been doing it _again._ And he didn’t know how much he wanted to keep her in the dark until she almost shines a great, big spotlight on the whole mess. 

“I’m sorry,” she says as he huddles at the top of the bed, staring at their dark blue sheets so he doesn’t have to look her in the eye. “I just…” 

She freezes before she says anything else, and the quiet is painful enough to get Aaron to finally look at her. 

He really wishes he hadn’t. 

“Aaron, please tell me you didn’t,” she starts, but before she finishes her sentence he’s off the bed and halfway to the bedroom door. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, his heart beating erratically in his chest, flooding his head with noise that he knows he won’t be able to escape. 

“Wait!” Meg calls out, reaching for his arm and only holding onto it for a half a second before she lets him go. 

“It’s none of my business, Aaron. I’m sorry. I just…”

She trails off when he finally looks her in the eye again, the truth likely written all over his face as he stands there and squirms in front of her like a child about to be scolded. 

“You didn’t,” she whispers, horrified as she looks at his stomach, still covered by a thin layer of black cotton. 

_I did,_ he thinks. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it slowly up his body until his shame is on full display. 

He’s always been honest with her. _Always._ And despite how much this is killing him, he doesn’t wanna stop now. 

She ghosts her fingers gently across his skin, skating over the newer cuts as tears bead in both their eyes. Her voice shaking as bad as her fingers when she says, “You promised.” 

“It wasn’t an option, Meg,” he says roughly as he shoves her hand away so he can cover himself up again. Anger rising suddenly in his chest as he says, “You think I wanna do this? That I wanna be scarred up like some freak show?”

“I never said that,” Meg tries to interrupt, but her voice is too quiet, too soft, betrayed by the tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“I can’t stop it!” he shouts, flat out shouts in her face. And the way it causes her to flinch makes the first tear escape him as well. 

“Why… why did you do it then?” she asks, her voice an attempt at strength now, more stable than before but still shaken up by her grief.

Aaron shrugs, his voice hoarse and defeated when he says, “Because I didn’t deserve it.” 

There’s a silence between them the thickness of which feels like it’s choking him, but he can’t break it. Meg is gonna have to be the one to do it as the earthquake settles around the epicenter of his admission. 

“Deserve what?” she whispers, unwilling to upset the ghosts that have come back to life in the last ten minutes. 

He shrugs again and asks, “Robert? To feel… to feel good? To feel peace?” 

The confusion on her face is almost worse than the pain. Because Meg’s always been his person, the one who listens, the one who understands. But even she can’t get this, apparently. Aaron is too fucked up for that. And if it’s true for her, how could he ever expect someone like Robert to understand? 

“Why do you think you don’t deserve those things?” she asks, grabbing Aaron’s elbows and holding him still when he tries to turn away. 

His voice is so quiet it’s as if he doesn’t want her to hear it when he replies, “Because I let him do it.” 

She quirks her head to the side, confusion still running down her cheeks along with her tears. 

“I let… let _him_ do _that_ to me,” he amends, stressing the _him_ and the _that_ so she knows exactly what he’s talking about. “Over and over, I just let him do… _that_ to me, Meg.” 

Meg’s face hardens. “You didn’t _let_ him do anything, Aaron. You were just a kid.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and freeing his arms so he can hug them around himself, keep the shaking in. “I could’ve told someone. I could’ve… could’ve stopped it. Could’ve run away. I could’ve done _something._ ”

“That’s _not_ your fault,” she says definitively. “You were a scared _kid._ Everything that happened… it was _his_ fault, Aaron, not yours.”

“Those are just excuses,” he hisses as he presses the heels of his palms hard into his eyes, the words drilled into his mind from years of training. “This is _my_ fault. And you couldn’t possibly understand.” 

“Then help me,” she begs, wringing her hands together and everything. “Help me understand this.” 

He opens his mouth for a moment before closing it again, doing that a few times like a dying fish before he just shrugs uselessly and says, “I can’t,” because he _can’t._

Nothing he says is gonna help Meg understand a word of this. _Nothing._ And it’s like he’s losing her or something, like she’s falling into the gulf that’s opened up between them. The one that’s always been there, really, he’s just only realized it now. The big gaping chasm between who Aaron is and what Meg knows. 

The words, “I can’t,” escape his lips again as more tears slip down his cheeks, and he leaves the room with no real destination in mind. Because everyone he wants to be with right now is too far away for him to touch, and his skin is so filthy that he wouldn’t want to touch them anyway. 

~*~

He runs into Cal in the kitchen that night, eating an early tea before likely heading into the club. And Aaron has done such a good job of avoiding everyone in the house all day that he almost groans at the sight. 

“Welcome back, son,” Cal says, any brightness in his tone dimmed by something Aaron doesn’t wanna hazard. “There’s more in the pot.” 

It’s not an invitation. Not really. Cal doesn’t ask questions; Cal gives orders. And so Aaron plates himself up some spaghetti and sits down at the kitchen table across from Cal without saying a single word. 

They sit in silence for a solid five minutes at least, five minutes that feel like five _months_ given how oppressive the quiet is. But Aaron doesn’t feel like giving up any more information today, raw as he is from his encounter with Meg this morning, so if Cal wants to know anything, Cal’s gonna have to ask. 

He does, eventually. A monotone, “How was Manchester?” wending its way through the rock solid silence they’ve created. 

Aaron looks up for a moment before snapping his eyes back to his plate, his shoulders shrugging defensively as he says, “It was fine,” because the less he has to lie, the less likely it is he’ll get caught. 

“Matt’s doing okay?” Cal counters. 

This time, Aaron does look him in the eye when he replies, “Yeah, he’s good. S’got a new job, working at a garage closer to his place.”

That much he knows is true, and he’s grateful for the information. 

“You tell him anytime he wants his job back, it’ll be open,” Cal says, referring to the fact that Matt used to work for him before he wanted to “move closer to his family.” 

Translation: Before he wanted to get out of a life of crime. 

“I will,” Aaron says, even though he won’t. He wouldn’t put that kinda pressure on a friend. 

“So how are the wedding plans going?” Cal asks next, and Aaron almost bites his tongue clear off in surprise when Cal makes that particular shift. 

He feels something crawl up his spine at that, something cold and slick. And it’s more difficult than he’d like to admit to resist the whole body shiver that wants to wrack him at the moment. 

“They’re going good,” he lies as a sick feeling pools in his gut. “Meg finally decided to push the date back to summer.”

“Oh yeah?” Cal responds, and even though he sounds interested, he also… doesn’t. His voice strange, incapable of being pinned down, and that more than anything makes Aaron uncomfortable. 

He’s always been able to read Cal’s moods like an open book. But today? 

“Yeah,” he says, barrelling ahead cause he’s got no choice. “Less rain then, she says.” And Aaron makes a mental note to tell Meg that she “said” all these things before Cal has a chance to cross-examine her. 

“Well, let me know if you two need any help with the details. I don’t mind springing for a wedding planner.”

Aaron knows what that offer means, can hear the _if it gets done sooner_ tacked onto the end even if Cal doesn’t say it. And it makes it feel like the walls are closing in on him the way it always does when Cal brings up the wedding. Because at some point, he’s either gonna need to just _do it,_ or he’s gonna somehow have to explain to Cal why he won’t. 

Neither prospect is very inviting to him. 

“It’s okay, Meg wants to do it herself,” he says back around a mouthful of spaghetti that tastes like ash. “You know her. Control freak to the core.”

“That’s my girl,” Cal replies with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and right in this moment, the only thing Aaron wants to do is run a mile. 

So he says, “I was thinking I could get back out there tonight, if that’s alright with you,” in the hopes that moving to a new topic will help him feel less like there’s a giant spotlight burning his skin. 

Cal settles back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “You sure you’re up to it?”

He wants to say _I was up to it a week ago,_ but that won’t get him very far. So he just says, “I’m sure,” because he is. If only because it’ll give him an excuse to see Robert. 

Cal shrugs. “Alright. Tell Sean to give you the phone back and you can start taking clients tomorrow.” And it wasn’t _exactly_ what Aaron wanted, but it’s close enough to it that he can feel the tendrils of relief start to work their way through his frozen bloodstream. 

“Thanks,” Aaron replies, the sentiment genuine as he tries to take another bite of his food if only to show Cal that he is, in fact, doing just fine, thank you very much. 

Cal smiles, another one of those dead-eye ones before saying, “No problem, kid,” and getting to his feet, patting Aaron on the shoulder as he makes his way to the sink. 

Before he leaves the room entirely, he turns to Aaron and says, “It really is good to have you back.” And even though it still sounds a bit hollow, Aaron can feel it warm his skin the way praise from Cal has always done. 

So the smile on his own face is as real as it’s ever been when he replies, “Thanks,” and watches as Cal heads out of the room. All the while feeling like he just dodged some sort of bullet that was too small to even see. 

~*~

_Boyfriend._

Nine letters. Two syllables. Three vowels and six consonants. Such a simple word. 

_Boyfriend._

It’s not simple though, is it? Not to Aaron. Not in his life. 

He’d tried to fit that mould once, tried to push and tug Jackson until he crammed into all the right corners with him. But even then, he didn’t really want it. Not back in those days, when he has hating himself more often than not and imagining that the only reason he was gay was because his dad liked to creep into his room at night and force himself on him when he misbehaved. 

So what even were they, him and Jackson? They certainly weren’t _boyfriends,_ not like Meg and the string of guys she’d bring home for dinner to meet and be scared off by her dad. Were they lovers? Were they mates? Were they even anything at all? 

Aaron doesn’t know. Jackson died long before he got the chance to find out. What Aaron _does_ know is that Robert is the only person he’s ever wanted to call _his._ To lay claim to, to plant a flag, do whatever messed up shite people do when they become a team - _Aaron wants that._ But he’s never been so terrified of wanting something in his entire life. 

_Boyfriend,_ he thinks, over and over and over again like repeating the word will somehow have it make sense. Like immersion therapy, facing your fears until you’re no longer afraid of them. But what is he afraid of here? That Robert won’t see things the same way? That Robert _will_ see things the same way? 

_What in the bloody hell is he afraid of?_

That’s what he’s asking himself as he makes his way up to Robert’s flat. Why is his heart pounding harder than usual? Why does his skin feel clammy with sweat? Why are his hands shaking where they’re stuffed in his pockets? 

_What in the bloody hell is he afraid of?_

“Hey,” Robert says smoothly once he’s opened the door, his body leaned against the jamb in this way that’s far more relaxed than anything Aaron could ever create. 

“Hey,” he replies like some shy teenage girl, because that’s what Robert’s reduced him to. 

He never should’ve spent those days with him here. He really needs to get a grip. 

“Do you want to come in or…” Robert asks, trailing off at the end in invitation. And it strikes Aaron out of nowhere what the solution is to all of his problems. 

There’s one thing that he and Robert have always been good at. So when all else fails…

He lunges at Robert, wraps his hands over the sides of his neck and pulls him in, working his mouth open with expert precision brought on by months of practice. 

Aaron knows every little thing that makes Robert tick. Knows how to work his tongue, knows where to put his hands, knows every single button to push to turn him out as fast or as slow as Aaron would like. And right now, he makes use of every one of them. 

It’s why Robert’s moaning into his mouth inside of thirty seconds, why he’s grabbing Aaron’s waist and dragging him into his flat, kicking the door shut behind them so they can have some privacy. And it’s why Robert sags under Aaron’s assault, his body liquifying right beneath Aaron’s hands as they stand in Robert’s foyer and steal each other’s breath in turns. 

Robert laughs a few minutes later, bending his head back to get some air as he rubs Aaron’s sides gently and says, “Easy there, sailor. I made food.” 

Aaron reaches around and squeezes Robert’s arse hard. “‘M not hungry,” he says, diving back in for more. And it’s not true. Aaron is _very hungry._ It’s just not food that he’s hungry for. 

Normally Robert would try and force him to eat, slow the process down, make a play for that domesticity that he seems to enjoy. But tonight, he goes with it, lets Aaron maneuver him back to the bedroom as the pair of them shed articles of clothing all along the pathway there until Aaron is shoving Robert onto the bed and neither one of them is wearing a stitch of clothing. 

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Robert asks breathlessly on the back of a laugh that seems a bit more hysterical than usual. 

Aaron stares him down as he crawls onto the bed, settling over his waist as he says the words, “Shut up,” like he means it. 

Robert doesn’t shut up because Robert almost _never_ shuts up. But all he says is, “Did I ever tell you how attractive I find your rudeness to be?” before Aaron is swallowing him down and Robert is seemingly losing all powers of speech. 

He groans deeply, something that Aaron echoes, his lips and tongue rumbling around Robert’s cock. And just like that, Robert is speaking again. 

It’s babbling this time, though. _Fucks_ and _shits_ and _gods_ that make Aaron smile around him, hum up his length as he twists his hand around the base of Robert’s cock and sucks him down like his life depends on getting Robert off as cleanly and efficiently as possible. And Aaron almost can’t believe how right he was. 

This is exactly what he needed. 

He knows when Robert is close because he starts thrashing around on the bed, forcing Aaron to pin his hips roughly to avoid getting bucked off. And then his fingers are in Aaron’s hair, pulling at the strands as he repeats Aaron’s name over and over in a voice so wrecked Aaron’s skin flushes with pride. 

He comes hard a minute later, the sensation of it spilling down Aaron’s throat causing his own cock to throb with anticipation. But when he lets Robert go and moves to take care of himself, Robert stops him. 

“Want,” Robert huffs before swallowing and catching his breath. “Want you in me.” 

Aaron’s eyes bounce from Robert’s eyes to his spent cock, disbelief coating his tone as he asks, “Won’t that be-”

Aaron doesn’t get to finish his question, mostly because Robert chooses that second to surge up and kiss him, lick his own taste from Aaron’s mouth before leaning back only far enough to whisper along Aaron’s lips, “I want you to fuck me hard again, yeah?” 

It takes Aaron a moment to place the emotion on Robert’s face, bleeding through his tone. To realize that Robert is actually being _shy_ here as he strokes Aaron’s cheeks and asks him to fuck him to a second orgasm. And really, when would that ever be a challenge Aaron would refuse? 

Where the blowjob was fast and frenzied, the sex… isn’t. It starts out that way, of course. Aaron works Robert open until he’s already starting to show signs of a resurgence, and it’s almost like Aaron can’t wait to get inside him. Once he’s there, though, once he’s right where Robert had asked him to be, something inside of Aaron settles. 

_Boyfriend,_ he thinks. But for some reason, that word doesn’t sound so terrifying right now. 

They go slow, slower than they ever have before. And Aaron does a good job of convincing himself it’s only because he’s waiting for Robert to get hard again, but deep down he knows that’s not it. 

That’s not why he grabs Robert’s hands and pins them above his head, their fingers entwined tightly around one another’s. 

That’s not why they spend their time alternating between slow, soft kisses and staring into each other’s eyes, not saying a word like everything can be read in only green and blue. 

That’s not why they fuck like they’re in some cheesy romance film as Aaron sees the word _boyfriend_ written on Robert’s skin like his freckles are braille. 

_Want me,_ he thinks as he thrusts into Robert in a way that makes their eye contact slip as Aaron clearly finds his prostate. 

_Need me,_ he thinks as he untangles one of their hands so he can reach into the space between them and wrap his fist around Robert, tugging him in time to his thrusts. 

_Have me,_ he thinks when Robert comes all over his stomach, clenching his arse and sending Aaron over the edge as well. 

The word _boyfriend_ so close to the tip of his tongue that it physically hurts to swallow it down. 

Aaron gets the wet towel for them to clean up with before lying flat on his back next to Robert, his heart still pounding mercilessly in his chest. And the way Robert reaches down and links their fingers again makes Aaron think that maybe, just _maybe,_ he’s on the same page after all. 

Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, Aaron still doesn’t know. 

After all, Aaron was the one who said he couldn’t offer anything other than sex. The one whose life is a mess in too many ways to count. And yeah, sure, they were able to spend a couple of nights together, and sure, they’ve been keeping under everyone’s radar this whole time. But what kind of relationship is that, having to hide all the time? Who would want to do something like that to someone else? 

He’s thinking about that as Robert rubs his thumb over the back of Aaron’s hand, the repetition soothing in a way that almost tricks him into sleep before there’s a loud knock on Robert’s door. 

“Robert Sugden, let me in!” the newcomer shouts, and Aaron is petrified immediately. Because there aren’t many people that would show up at your door in the middle of the night, and none of them are good. 

He goes to sit up immediately, trying to remember where he left all his clothes, when Robert places a hand on Aaron’s chest and lowers him back to the bed. 

“Relax, it’s just Clive,” he says, causing a rush of relief to flood Aaron’s system. “I’ll get rid of him.”

“What the hell is he doing here in the middle of the night?” Aaron asks maybe a little petulantly. But can you blame him? He was maybe sort of having a _moment_ here before Robert’s hapless moron of a friend had to come and ruin it. 

“He wanted me to come out with him tonight,” Robert says as he gets off the bed and slides into a pair of trackies draped over the chair. “He’s probably just hammered.”

Before he leaves, Robert leans back over the bed to give Aaron a long, lingering kiss on the lips, and then he’s disappearing out of the bedroom. And normally, Aaron would leave Robert to his business and stay where he is. But tonight hasn’t really been a normal night and so Aaron creeps to the edge of Robert’s bedroom and waits to hear what he can hear. 

“What are you doing here?” Robert asks grumpily once he’s opened the door, an emotion that makes Aaron smile because at least he wasn’t the only one that didn’t want tonight to end just yet. 

“I couldn’t… couldn’t ‘member where I lived,” Clive slurs, his voice moving closer to Aaron like Robert is actually letting him into the flat.

“What’s wrong, mate? You have a bad night?” 

Clive hiccups. Actually, honest to god _hiccups_ loud enough for Aaron to hear him all the way in Robert’s bedroom. 

“I got slapped again,” he says pathetically. “You’re s’posed to be there to stop… stop me from doin’ stupid things.”

Robert laughs at that, a sound that’s always welcome to Aaron even if it’s directed at his daft mate. 

“I don’t think _anyone_ can stop you from doing stupid things,” he says. “Least of all me.” 

_He’s such a good mate,_ Aaron thinks, his mind drifting to the way that Robert talks to him sometimes, just like he’s talking to Clive. His voice soft, caring, and just like that, Aaron’s attention is completely focused within. 

_Maybe we are just mates,_ he thinks. If he talks the same way to Clive, someone he’s presumably not sleeping with, what makes Aaron think he’s so special? Maybe Aaron got this whole thing wrong, maybe he was a fool to think that they could ever be anything more than friends who fuck, maybe…

“Bloody hell, that man is messed up,” Robert says from right in front of Aaron, where he’d managed to sneak in without his notice. 

“What?” Aaron asks, trying to cover how much Robert startled him. 

“I was just saying that Clive is a mess,” he says as he hands something over to Aaron. 

It’s his clothes, a nice neat pile of them. And Aaron hates how much his heart sinks at that. 

“He’s passed out on the couch, but I didn’t think you’d want to be here if he woke up. Did I… did I read this wrong?” Robert asks, evidently taking in Aaron’s terrible poker face. 

He tries to put on a mask, cover the disappointment he’s feeling at being chucked out in favour of someone else. But all he can manage is mild indifference as he says, “S’not a bother to me. I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow anyway.”

No he doesn’t. Aaron never has to be up early for anything, _ever._ But shame is starting to stretch across his skin and he wants to get out of here before that becomes apparent. 

So he puts on his clothes as quickly as possible and heads for Robert’s front door, doing his best to stay quiet so as not to wake Robert’s mate. 

“Oi, wait,” Robert whispers as Aaron tries to make his escape through the door. 

He almost doesn’t, but he’s finding more and more that he can’t refuse Robert pretty much anything anymore. Which is yet another terrifying discovery to come across. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow? At the warehouse?” Robert asks hopefully. But when Aaron just nods all businesslike, Robert rolls his eyes and grabs his face, pulling him into a kiss that matches all the others they’ve had tonight. 

“Goodnight, grumpy,” Robert says with a dazzling smile that almost knocks Aaron flat. 

A distraction that allows Aaron to say, “G’night, Rob,” before he can stop himself. 

It’s only the third time he’s called him that, and the first time to his face. And to say that Robert lights up like a bloody Christmas tree would be a vast understatement. 

Robert kisses him again, his whole body pressing against Aaron’s as he continues holding his face like it’s something precious. His smile somehow even wider when he lets him go and says a simple, “Until tomorrow.” 

Aaron smiles and nods because words are definitely beyond him right now, and then he’s on his way home. The feel of eyes and lips and hands all over his body following him the entire way there. 

~*~

He’s still thinking about the kiss the following night, through every drop he has to do, every customer he has to pretend to care about. All he wants is Robert, like he’s some sorta prize at the end of a long marathon. Only Aaron’s marathon has to do with delivering drugs to rich arseholes. 

Everyone has their own race to run, right? 

He’s almost there, though. He’s just got one dropoff left and then he can meet Robert at their warehouse. When he gets to his final location, though - a fancy, old hotel near the center of downtown - something catches his eye. 

At first, it’s just a car, not even a particularly _nice_ car. But something about it grabs him, scratches at the back of his mind until it clicks where he’s seen this car before. 

Outside the club. 

Across the street. 

Under the broken streetlight. 

His skin goes cold immediately because this can’t possibly be a coincidence. Sure, there’s probably more than one ugly, burgundy sedan in town, but he _knows,_ like a sixth sense, that it’s the same one. 

He starts to walk away from the hotel slowly, hoping that he hasn’t been noticed. But he doesn’t go more than ten meters before the sounds of sirens ring in his ears. 

Aaron does the only thing he can do. 

He runs. 

He knows this city better than anyone, so he knows where to go. Where to dump the pills in his pocket, separate from the plastic bag. The one he wipes as clean as he can as he searches for bin after bin. One for the pills, one for the bag, one for his work phone - smashed to bits. One for his personal phone - smashed as well. 

Cal’s been drilling into their heads since they were kids what they should do if the police ever came looking. “Give them nothing to pin to you,” he said, over and over, and Aaron is nothing if not a good listener. 

He can’t run forever, though. And even if he could, where would he go? Home? Leading the police there would be like walking a burglar right through the front door. So he makes sure to take them on a good chase, weaving through as many streets as possible, getting them farther and farther away from anything incriminating before he stops, falls to his knees, and puts his hands behind his head. 

As the cuffs are going on, there’s only one thing running through Aaron’s mind: Robert. In that warehouse. Waiting for him. And how much he wishes he could be there, too. 


	15. She Said, She Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying something a little different here. I hope you guys like it. 

**_Ten years ago…_ **

There are three things Meg realizes when she finds herself awake in the middle of the night: 

1) There’s a stranger in the house, a voice she doesn’t recognize speaking in whispers to her father out in the upstairs hall. 

2) She’d somehow managed to kick her blankets off at some point while she was sleeping. Which, due to the time of year and the draftiness of the windows in their old house, means she’s positively freezing. 

3) There is no way she isn’t failing her Maths test tomorrow now. 

She gets out of bed because of number one and regardless of numbers two and three, creeps to her door and pulls it open just far enough to see the shadows dancing around her father and a boy who looks to be about her age. 

“Take a hot shower, son,” her dad says, the words startling her because it’s not like him to use words of endearment on anyone but her and her brothers, and even not always on them. “You’ll feel better once you get your blood moving properly again.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the boy says, the gauntness of his cheeks harsh in the moonlight, looking sharp enough to cut glass.

“There’s towels in the cupboard, and I’ll leave some spare clothes outside the door for when you’re done. The last door on the left will be your bedroom. Sound good?” 

The boy nods, but he doesn’t say another word before disappearing like a ghost into the loo. 

Meg is still staring at a shut-tight door when her dad’s shadow falls over her. 

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” he asks. “I thought I remember hearing something about a big test tomorrow?” 

Meg looks up from where she’d been crouching on the floor, her father large and imposing from this angle, but not so much that she doesn't have the courage to ask, “Who was he?” 

Her dad crouches down in front of her, just on the other side of the crack in her door. “His name’s Aaron, and he’s going to be staying with us for a while. Is that alright with you?”

She shrugs, unsure of how to answer a question like that about a boy she’s yet to even properly meet. 

She trusts her dad’s judgment, though, always has, because he’s never given her a single reason to doubt him. So why should she start now? 

“Good girl,” he says as he reaches out to pat her head, a gesture she squirms away from because she’s sixteen, not six.

He laughs softly at her, just like he always does, before saying a quiet, “Go back to sleep,” and heading down the hall towards his room. 

She thinks about adhering to his request, but in the end her curiosity gets the better of her. And so she stays right where she is, huddled in her room, until the loo door opens a good twenty minutes later. 

The boy is backlit now, shrouded in harsh light, and even from only the half of his body she can see, clad in nothing but a pair of ratty looking boxer shorts, she can tell why her father brought him home. 

She can see the line of every single one of his ribs, sharp punctures in skin that’s otherwise covered in bruises, some already yellowed with age. And in that moment, Meg knows one thing for certain.

She will do everything in her power to help this boy. 

He catches her looking as he bends down to pick up the clothes she’d watched her father place outside the door a few minutes ago. And the expression on his face is so dead, so completely lost and _dead,_ that her heart breaks anew for him. 

He closes the door quickly, cutting himself off from her view. But a thought reaches her like a bolt of lightning, a recent memory of how cold she’d felt when she woke up skittering through her brain as she moves to her bed and collects up all of her blankets. 

She creeps down the hallway to the last door on the left, opens the door and sees exactly what she’s expecting: One thin flannel blanket on the bed and nothing else. Not nearly enough warmth for someone with that little meat on his bones. 

She works quickly, making the bed up like her blankets were meant to be there all along. And she manages to make it back into her room with the door shut tight behind her before the loo door is opening up again. 

She can hear the boy - _Aaron_ \- walking down the hallway, can sense the way he’s trying to make as little sound as possible on the creaky wooden boards. But only when she hears the door close down the hall does she return to her bed, curling into a ball against the chill. 

There’s no way she’s passing her Maths test tomorrow as she’ll probably be up all night shivering in her bed. But it’s worth it, she figures, if it means Aaron won’t have to spend the night frozen stiff. Because, judging by first appearances alone, he seems like he’s had enough of those nights to last a lifetime. 

~*~

**_Today…_ **

Meg has no flipping clue what’s startled her awake. All she knows is that her blankets are pooled on the floor next to her bed and she’s freezing to death. 

She hasn’t done that in years. 

It takes her a moment to realize that Aaron isn’t beside her, and another few moments to realize that it was her phone buzzing on the night table that woke her up. When she goes to look at the caller ID, though, her brain shuts down in late night confusion. 

_Unknown caller._

She’s about to turn her phone off and go back to sleep when some sort of sixth sense curls inside her belly. And so on what’s probably the last possible ring before the phone cuts to voice message, she hits the green button. 

“Hello?” she asks, her voice rough from sleep. 

“Oh, thank god you answered,” Aaron’s voice spills frantically over the line. “They only give us one call and I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake… or… well, of course you weren’t _awake,_ but I wasn’t sure if you’d hear your phone, and just-”

“ _Aaron!_ ” she snaps. “Where are you? And why are you talking like you’re on speed or summat?” 

Instead of answering either of her very valid questions, Aaron says a truly unhelpful, “Don’t freak out.” 

“Well, that pretty much guarantees that I _will_ freak out, so thanks for that, genius. _What the hell is going on?_ ” 

“Meg, I’ve been… I’ve been arrested.” 

To say that Meg’s heart stops at those words would be an understatement. It doesn’t just stop, it goes back in time and stops existing entirely. 

“You’ve been _arrested_?!” 

“I asked you not to freak out.” 

“And I told you I could pretty much assure you that I _would._ What… Aaron what happened?” 

“It’s not important what happened,” he says flippantly as if that question is just one some silly little girl would ask in the time of a crisis. 

She’s going to punch him for that. 

“I just need you to go and get your dad and send him to the station. Can you do that?

She rolls her eyes. 

“No, I’m sorry Aaron, I don’t think I’m capable of doing that. My poor female sensibilities can’t handle something so critical. Of _course_ I can do that. But why didn’t you just call him in the first place? I’m sure he’ll be chomping at the bit to ride in on his white horse.” 

“That was a really bad metaphor,” Aaron mumbles in a clear attempt to stall for time. So Meg just hisses his name again and waits for his answer. 

“I thought he’d take it better coming from you, okay?” 

“Oh, so I’m the sacrificial lamb, am I?” 

“No, you’re the perfect, beloved princess that can do no wrong in daddy’s eyes.”

She laughs at that, because it’s funny that Aaron thinks he’s not afforded the same exact considerations. 

“They’re telling me I have to get off the phone, Meg, can you just… please do it? Please?”

He sounds scared now, which is far worse than the speedball adrenaline push of a few minutes ago. So she says, “Of course I can. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Meg, you don’t have to-”

“ _We_ will be there as soon as we can. Just hold tight, yeah?” 

There’s a beat of silence on the line wherein Meg wonders if Aaron has been cut off before he says a defeated, “Yeah.” 

And then he’s gone. And Meg is getting ready to face down the most recent challenge in her best mate’s life, more than willing to face it down with him. Because she made herself a promise going on a decade ago, and she’s got no interest in going back on it now. 

She will do everything in her power to help this boy. 

~*~

**_Nine and a half years ago…_ **

Normally, Meg flows in the direction moving _away_ from fights on the schoolyard. She’s been in private school her whole life, just like her brothers. But apparently private school doesn’t mean her classmates are any more civilized here than elsewhere. 

There’s a fight a day, basically, is her point. Sometimes more than one. And generally speaking, she steers as far clear of them as possible. Until today, when someone yells something that catches her attention. 

“Get ‘im, Aaron!” 

She rolls her eyes and sighs deeply, knowing full well that this is not her responsibility. In the six months Aaron has been living with them, he’s been in at least a dozen fights at school, and one particularly brutal one at home with Liam. It’s not her _responsibility,_ but that doesn’t stop her from stomping over to the gathered crowd and shoving her way through. 

She can’t tell if Aaron is winning or not. Both boys have bloody noses, ripped school uniforms and messed up hair. So it’s not really Aaron’s health and well being Meg is worried about as she looks for the right moment to throw herself between the pugilists. 

It’s school she’s really worried about. It’s the threat of exclusion Aaron got the _last_ time he fought. And it’s the probably irrational fear of her father kicking Aaron out if he becomes too much of a liability, even if appearances suggest otherwise in that department. 

Aaron manages to knock the other boy down, and Meg takes that as her chance to get in front of him, place her hands on his chest and block him from getting any closer to his opponent. 

“Oh, what now, Livesy. You need a girl to fight your battles for you?” the boy has the nerve to ask from the flat of his back. 

“You better watch your mouth or this _girl_ is going to take you up on that offer,” Meg hisses back at the idiot, taking some satisfaction in the way his eyes widen in surprise. 

“Go _away,_ Meg,” Aaron growls, but before Meg can tell him why that’s _not_ happening, someone in the crowd shouts, “Teachers!” and everyone starts to scarper. 

Meg grabs Aaron’s wrist, tugging a few sharp times before he finally huffs and follows her _away_ from the authorities. But as soon as they’re out of the schoolyard, he yanks his wrist back and starts walking at a faster pace.

“Your nose looks pretty bad,” she says conversationally as they power walk home, Meg at least one step behind at all times. 

All she gets in return is a rude little _hmph._

“You should let me look at it when we get home.”

He stops suddenly, rounding on her. And common sense would say Meg should be at least a little afraid here, but thirteen fights at school or not, she knows Aaron won’t hurt her. He hasn’t got a cruel bone in his entire body. 

“You think I don’t know what a broken nose feels like?” he asks all angry and gruff like one of those puppy dogs that tries to act all big and scary. 

“I think you don’t know what common sense feels like.” 

He laughs, a sharp bellow that sounds so fake she can only roll her eyes at it before he says, “That’s rich, coming from the girl that stepped into the middle of someone else’s fight.” 

“Ha!” she laughs, mocking his bellow. “That’s rich coming from the git who started the fight in the first place.” 

“Who said I started it?” he asks defensively. 

She rolls her eyes again. “You always start it, Aaron. It’s like… like you’re itching to fight someone, _anyone_ from the moment you wake up. Why is that?” 

He stares at her for a few seconds, this odd look on his face that she can’t make out before he huffs and says, “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, okay?” 

She grabs his wrist again when he tries to walk away from her. “I was just trying to help.” 

He shakes loose and pokes his index finger into the center of her chest. “Well don’t.” 

She slaps his hand away. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a jerk?” 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?” 

She gasps at the insult. “I am _not_ annoying!” 

“Really?” he says with what can almost be construed as a smile. “Why are you always following me around then, huh?” 

“Because I want to be your mate, you prat!” she shouts, which was not what she was planning on saying. Not by a long shot. But there you have it. 

“Why?” he asks a few seconds later, his voice, his expression, his entire _body_ looking somewhat shaken by Meg’s admission. 

“You know at the moment, I’m having trouble remembering the reasons,” she says with a smile that she hopes will wipe that dead look off his face. The one he seems to get whenever anyone does something nice for him.

“You really wanna be my mate?” he asks, this time with squinted eyes that thankfully look more like the sarky Aaron she’s grown to sort of like. 

“God help me, yes, I do,” she replies with another smile and a soft punch to his stomach, the one that thankfully has some meat to it now that her dad has spent a half a year feeding him like the fatted calf. 

Aaron tips his head back a little, studies her carefully before crossing his arms and saying, “Maybe that’s possible. But on one condition.”

“Oh, here we go!” she says with a laugh. 

“You stop getting in the middle of my fights.”

“Okay, but I have a condition too,” she says haughtily. 

“Oh, here we go!” 

“You stop getting _into_ fights.” 

The smile slips off Aaron’s face, falling close to the dead of before as he contemplates Meg’s condition. His voice quiet, barely there but one hundred percent honest when he replies, “I’ll try.” 

Meg just nods at him because for now, that’s more than enough. 

~*~

**_Today…_ **

It’s surprising how much activity takes place in a police station at half three in the morning on a Saturday. Well… maybe not that surprising. 

What one hundred percent _isn’t_ surprising, though, is how uncomfortable the cold, plastic chairs in the lobby are. Or how creepy the people _in_ that lobby are. Or how slow time goes when your best mate and technical fiance is locked in a holding cell a few dozen meters away for what you can only hope is a charge easily washed away with soap and water. 

“Please never mention your feminine _wiles_ to me again.” That’s the last thing her father had said before disappearing into the back of the station like he was strolling into Narnia. 

It was in reference to her offer to help, using anything she had at her disposal up to and including a metal nail file (she forgot to bring hers) to get Aaron out of this mess. A mess that her dad got Aaron into, not like she’d ever say that to his face. 

She’s saying it under her breath now, that’s for sure. She always knew that if Aaron continued working for the family business, he’d end up either behind bars or six feet under. But every time she’d posed the idea to the man himself, he’d just brushed her off and waddled after her dad like a baby duck imprinting on a ferocious wolf. 

She loves her dad. Deeply. But she loves Aaron, too, and she wants better for him than this… this _life,_ if you could even call it that. But he’s always been too stubborn to want it back. 

So here Meg is, one leg shaking, one finger twirling in the loose strands of hair tumbling down from her messy bun, and one brain working on overdrive, praying Aaron didn’t have anything incriminating on him when he got nicked. 

He can’t do prison, especially not now that he’s cutting again. For all Meg knows, he’ll top himself in there. And then…

Meg doesn’t even think an _and then_ exists for her, so stitched into her life is Aaron. Which is why he just has to get out of this and then, when Meg has the chance, she can toss him in her boot and drive him into the middle of the country with the hopes that he won’t be able to find his way home again. 

Simple as that. 

“Dad!” she cries breathlessly when he finally rejoins her in the lobby, his face grimmer than she’d like as she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him hold her for a few grateful seconds. 

“Don’t tell me it’s bad,” she whispers into his ear, and the sigh he releases at that could really go either way. 

He lets her go then, scans the room and apparently deems it too crowded with prying ears. So he takes her hand gently in his and guides her out of the station onto the thankfully empty front steps. 

“They didn’t find anything on him,” he says, belaying her first fear as the pictures of Aaron having bags and bags of pills pulled from his pockets by the coppers like one of those daft magicians with the super long scarves flushes away, dislodging some of the lump in her throat in the process. 

“But?” she asks, because there’s no way that’s it. If it were, Aaron would be standing next to them right now. 

“But they’re still charging him.”

“With what?!” she shouts probably louder than she should, not like she can help it right now. “Intent to sell pockets of air? What could they possibly have on him?” 

“Resisting arrest,” her dad replies, and that…

“That’s ridiculous,” she decides. So he ran from the cops, who wouldn’t? You can’t send someone down for an arrest that was incorrect in the first place. 

“It is,” her dad says as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, likely in the hopes of calming her down. Fat chance of that. “And it’ll get thrown out easily in court. But for now, they’re going to keep him his full twenty-four hours, and after that, he’ll be on bail until his hearing. So he’s not out of the woods yet.” 

“Why are they even doing this?” she asks as tears begin to sting her eyes. “Why him? Why now? It’s just so… so _stupid._ ” 

“I know that, sweetheart,” he practically coos as he tugs her into his arms again. And normally Meg would buck at this sort of childish treatment, but her mother’s been dead since she was five and so sometimes she just needs to be held in her daddy’s arms. No one would judge her for that. 

“I don’t know why this is happening now,” he says as he rubs gentle circles into the center of her back, quieting the sobs that want to burst out of her chest. “But they’re just doing it to get to me, because they know he’s my kid.” 

Meg smiles at that, her face buried in her father’s chest as she just _smiles_ because in all the things she’s hoped for Aaron, this has always been the biggest one. 

He’s family. She knows it. Her dad knows it. And her brothers…

Well, her brothers are prats. 

“Come on, princess, there’s nothing more we can do here tonight,” he says, the word _tonight_ sounding funny given the way the sun has started its slow crawl over the horizon. 

“I don’t want to leave him, dad,” she says with a muffled voice due to the fact that she’s still just clinging to her father like he’s the last life raft on the Titanic. 

He kisses the top of her head. “I know, I know, neither do I. But he’s safe, they’ll treat him well if they know what’s good for them, and we’ll be back to pick him up tomorrow night. Time to go home and get some rest.”

She sniffles, wiping her eyes quickly before she pulls away so her father doesn’t see her weakness even though his eyes look a little sparkly as well. And with that, they’re heading home. Or her body is, anyway. 

Her heart and mind? They’re staying right here. 

~*~

**_Nine years ago…_ **

The scream isn’t loud. That’s not what wakes her up. No, what does it is the fact that it’s _terrified._ The fact that _Aaron_ is terrified. And they haven’t been best mates for long, but she knows enough about what that title means to get her arse out of bed and down to his room. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Far from it. But their dad is out of town tonight, and since he’s the one that usually takes care of these situations, the onus falls on her. 

“Shut him up, would ya?” Liam asks sleepily but still prickishly from the door to his room, one hand rubbing his eyes as his sour expression slips from one eye to the next then back again. 

She glares at him, but she hasn’t got time to stand here and argue with him about what a git he is, so she just mutters, “Such empathy,” under her breath and keeps moving towards Aaron’s room.

The screams get louder the closer she gets, reaching their peak as she opens Aaron’s door and walks inside. 

The curtains are wide open, the same way they’ve always been ever since Aaron moved in like he can’t stand to be in the dark. It’s why she can see him clearly, how he’s thrashing on the bed as if someone’s chained him down and he’s trying to break through the bindings. 

Her heart breaks for him. It’s not the first time she’s felt this way - heck, you can go back to his first night here to find that particular milestone. But this is by far the worst. 

She doesn’t know how her dad does it, seeing this a few times a week. She doesn’t know how _Aaron_ does it, living through whatever hell is going on inside his head time after time after time. And she doesn’t know how she’s going to do it, but she has to, that much is obvious. 

Aaron needs her. 

Her initial urge is simply to run up to him, grab some part of his body and shake him until he opens his eyes. But he’s flailing around so badly she’s not sure how she’d be able to manage that. And she knows Aaron well enough to know that he wouldn’t forgive himself if he hurt her while she was trying to help him. 

He’s still in distress, though, and the longer she stands here, the longer he has to live inside the nightmare. And so, like she’s trying to avoid booby traps, she moves towards the bed as cautiously as possible. 

She grabs a flying wrist once she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tries to shake Aaron awake that way. But being held seems to only make matters worse, judging by the pained wail that keens out of his throat. 

Tears are pressing at the backs of her eyes now, but she’s not going to give up. And to prove it, she lets go of his wrist and tries something else. 

The hand over his chest doesn’t work, neither does trying to pin down his legs. Rubbing his stomach gently seems to cause the worst reaction, while grabbing his shoulder and shaking has little to no effect. She even tries to shout his name, something she’s sure Liam is just _loving,_ but no matter what she does, the nightmare just won’t let him go. 

Meg is sobbing by this point, rough hiccups of it erupting out of her throat as one failure after the next mocks her. But then, as a last ditch effort, she dodges a punch and throws herself onto Aaron’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” she cries as he tries to buck her off, “I’m so sorry. Please just wake up, Aaron. _Please,_ wake up.” 

She kisses his cheek at that, feels her tears slip off her face and onto his. And something about the gesture seems to work because no sooner does she remove her lips than Aaron’s eyes snap open. 

He looks lost, like he’s caught somewhere between the nightmare and the present. So Meg strokes his cheek a few times, whispers the words, “You’re okay, you’re safe,” into his ear as she holds his shaking body for as long as he’ll let her. 

Eventually, he pushes her off, though, his voice ragged as he says, “‘M okay,” even though he’s clearly not. But Meg knows better than to push so she moves to the side until no part of her body is touching his and just lies there waiting for him to tell her what to do next. 

He stares at the ceiling for a while, seemingly waiting for his breath to calm down before he turns his head and says, “Thanks. I’m sorry if-”

“No,” she interrupts forcefully. “None of that. I’m just glad you’re okay. You are, aren’t you? You’re okay?” 

Aaron’s eyes get a bit shifty at that, but he still nods, swallowing deeply before sucking in a long breath that seems to do something to calm him a bit. 

“Could you,” he starts to ask, his voice strained with shyness. “Could I just be alone please?” 

“Oh, god, of course!” she says as she hops off his bed as quickly as she can. “Just, if you need me… well, you know where I am.” 

Aaron nods at that, all talked out as he seems to be, before turning his back to Meg and pulling his blankets all the way up to his chin. 

She’ll joke about this with him someday, that’s what she tells herself when she leaves his room. She’ll call him Sleeping Beauty and retell how her kiss woke him from his fitful slumber. But for now, all she wants to do is hold him, the one thing she can’t do.

So she leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her and giving Liam’s door one final glare before crawling into her bed and crying herself to sleep. 

~*~

**_Today…_ **

Meg is absolutely shattered by the time they get home. All she really wants to do is crawl into bed, pull the duvet up over her head, and sleep the day away. 

But then she remembers where Aaron is, sitting on some cement slab with a thin mattress masking itself as a bed, four walls closing in on him, leeching the heat from his bones, and she knows there’s no way she’ll sleep again until he’s home. Until she can hold him in her arms and see for herself that he’s alright. 

“What’s this? A family meeting?” her dad asks as soon as they make their way into the sitting room, his voice snapping her out of all sorts of nightmares about how Aaron might be getting treated or what Aaron might be thinking (of doing).

When she finally looks up, her three brothers are spread around the room, none of them dressed for work in the slightest and all of them wearing matching expressions of grim disdain. 

“Why aren’t you all at work?” her dad asks, referring to the array of part-to-full-time jobs they all keep to look as legitimate as possible. 

Liam, predictably, is the one to speak. 

“We heard about Aaron, dad,” he says as he gets to his feet, brushing imaginary fuzz off his shirt in the process. “Patrick got wind of his arrest through our back channels.” 

Her dad’s posture goes completely rigid as he crosses his arms over his chest and asks, “So?” 

“So we need to talk about what we’re going to do,” Liam replies, his voice shaking slightly in a way that always makes Meg smile. 

Her dad huffs back at him. “What _we’re_ going to do, eh? He’ll be out on bail tonight and the charges will be dropped within a few weeks. There’s nothing else that needs to be done.” 

Liam grits his teeth before speaking again, his jaw still trying to lock itself shut with tension as he says, “He got nicked, dad. He’s on their radar now.” 

Her dad actually laughs at Liam this time, which almost makes Meg join him. 

“We’re _all_ on their radar, Liam,” her dad says, his voice deeper now like he’s trying to show Liam just how useless this conversation is. 

“But he got-”

“Nicked, yeah, I know, I just came from the police station. And I’ve been assured that this will come to nowt, so there’s really nothing for you to be worrying about.” 

The patronizing tone is unmistakable. And normally Meg might feel a little bad about one of her brothers getting treated that way in front of the whole family but… nope. It’s Liam. And if anyone deserves it, Liam does. 

“Now if you’re done, I’d like it if all of you got to work. We’ve got a business to run, don’t we?” 

Liam looks like he wants to argue. Scratch that, Liam looks like he wants to _explode._ But her father has put down his proverbial foot, and even Liam isn’t dumb enough to fight it. 

“Fine,” he mumbles as he makes his way to the stairs. Before he gets there, though, he turns around and says, “But mark my words, this isn’t over with him. He’s going to be the death of this family.”

Meg rolls her eyes. Liam MacFarlane, ever the drama queen. 

Her dad just stares blankly at him, refusing to respond before he turns to head off towards the kitchen, probably to make himself some strong coffee. And given that she knows she won’t be sleeping today, Meg follows to join him. 

There’s a sick feeling pooling in her gut now, though. And Liam’s name is written all over it. 

~*~

**_Eight years ago…_ **

Aaron has been disappearing on and off for weeks. It usually happens at night, for a few hours minimum each time. And Meg knows that it’s probably not her business, but on the other hand, she feels like maybe it could be her business if she tried hard enough. 

She’s been watching too many spy movies lately, curled up on the sofa after a long day at college with a surly Aaron rolling his eyes every minute or so. That’s what she blames this on, the way that one night as Aaron’s sneaking out of the bathroom window she decides to just… follow him. 

What could he possibly have to hide from even his best mate? 

They walk in a direction she’s never gone, settling in a part of town she’s never seen. But the way Aaron casually strolls up to one of the clubs tells her he’s been here before. 

She debates for a solid five minutes before she trails him inside. She figures she deserves some credit for that. 

The first thing she notices is that the place is loud. _Very_ loud. The next thing she notices is the strobe light, making her feel so dizzy she could puke. And the third, and possibly most important, thing she notices is the pair of girls snogging in front of her. 

Now _that_ makes her dizzy. 

There’s more of the same everywhere, same sex couples dancing and kissing and… and _touching._ And Meg gets it, but she also doesn't entirely _get it_ until she catches sight of Aaron across the dance floor. 

He’s with another bloke, light brown hair, tight white t-shirt, and lips currently pressed to the neck of her one and only best mate in the whole wide world. And Meg is about to go over there, ask Aaron how long this has been going on, when Aaron and his new mate make a b-line for the back door of the club. 

Meg follows them. Of course she follows them. She’s already in this, isn’t she? And thankfully they’re wrapped up enough in each other that they don’t see her make a mad dash for the nearest bin to hide behind. 

They’re just making out for a bit, but then Aaron shoves the bloke away from him in a way that makes Meg stand up straight, ready to defend him. Only… Aaron doesn’t seem to need defending, judging by the fact that he’s turning around to face the wall, reaching for his belt, and…

“Aaron!” Meg shouts, the word escaping her completely unbidden, giving away her position. And the way Aaron stands bolt upright and looks down the alley at her in sheer terror makes her wish she could go back in time and tell her daft self not to follow Aaron out the window. 

This is none of her business. It’s Aaron’s business and his alone. And if he’d wanted her to know, he bloody well would’ve told her. 

He makes for the other end of the alley, leaving his little friend rooted to the ground, confused and probably more than a little disappointed. And now when Meg follows Aaron, it’s not because she’s a Grade A meddler, it’s because she knows she messed up and she wants to make it right. 

It’s hard for her to catch up with the way he’s speed walking, even harder to stay in pace with him, which is why her words are ragged when she huffs and puffs out, “D’you mind slowing down a bit? My legs are short.” 

“Go away, Meg,” he bites out at her angrily, rightfully so. 

“Look, I’m sorry I interrupted your date or whatever, I was just-”

He stops abruptly, rounding on her in a way that almost makes her fall over with the suddenness of it all, and says, “It weren’t a date. He’s just a mate, and we were just… just talking.” 

Meg narrows her eyes because she may be in the wrong here, but she’s not actually _wrong._

“I saw you inside the club, Aaron. He was kissing you. And back there? In the alley? You and him were about to.” She leans in closer to him, whispering, “You were about to have sex.”

Aaron makes this rude _pfft_ sound before starting up his power walk again. “You’re completely mental. I weren’t going to have sex with him. Why would I want to do that?” 

“If I had to guess,” Meg says cautiously. “It’s because you’re-”

“Stop!” he shouts, rounding on her again. “Just stop, okay? You had no right to follow me, Meg.”

“I was worried about you,” she tries because it’s the truth. “And besides… I wouldn’t have followed you if you hadn’t been lying to me.” 

“The reason I’ve been lying to you is because it’s none of your business!” 

That’s true. And she should just say that it’s true and leave it all alone. 

Except, when she opens her mouth, the words, “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on, Aaron?” come flying out. 

Because even though she’s ninety-nine percent sure she already knows, she wants to hear it from him. She wants him to _trust her_ enough to tell her. Because she’d tell him if the roles were reversed. She’d tell Aaron _anything._ And the thought that he doesn’t feel the same breaks her heart. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, and this time he sounds defeated, maybe even a little scared, which is the last possible thing she’d ever want him to feel, especially because of her. 

“Whatever you like,” she replies with a shrug. And something about the way she says that makes Aaron’s shoulders sag in what she hopes is relief. 

“Fine. Whatever. I’m gay, okay?” he says shakily, wiping furiously at the few tears escaping his eyes. “My dad… he made… I’m just gay. That’s it. That’s… that’s me. Now just leave me alone, alright?”

His steps are slower when he walks away this time, too slow for them to be construed as anything but sad. And Meg realizes suddenly that she did that, she made Aaron _feel that._ And she can’t let that stand without at least trying to repair the damage. 

“I’m sorry, Aaron!” she calls out as she runs to catch up with him. 

But all he does in response to her apology is shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

It’s her turn to round on him, freezing him midstep as she says forcefully, “It _does_ matter. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done _any_ of this. It’s none of my business.”

_Jesus,_ it really is none of her business, innit?

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t… I just don’t _know,_ and I’m so sorry for sticking my neb in. You have every right to sneak out or lie or do whatever it is you want to do without me tailing you like some… some copper.”

Oh god, she did that, didn’t she? She followed him like some bloody copper. What is wrong with her? 

“It’s fine, Meg. Really,” he says, and now he’s trying to make _her_ feel better, which is Aaron all over. And Meg can’t help the tears that spring to her eyes at that, nor can she help the way she flings herself at Aaron, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so tight she’ll likely choke him if she’s not careful. 

“I’m so, _so_ sorry. I love you, you know that? No matter who you like or what you do, I’ll always love you. Please tell me that you know that.”

He reaches up eventually, resting his palms flat against her shoulder blades. His voice so hoarse there’s no way he’s not crying as well as he says, “I know.” And for now, that’s enough for her. 

She just hopes that it’s enough for him. 

~*~

**_Today…_ **

“So he’s okay then?” Greg asks from the other end of the line. 

Meg curls further into herself on her and Aaron’s bed, wishing he were here with her. 

“He’s as okay as he can be, I suppose. They didn’t really tell dad anything, or… well… maybe they did and dad didn’t really tell _me_ anything. But we’ll be able to get him out tonight and then he should be clear of all charges within a few weeks.” 

Greg _hmms,_ the sound soothing her almost to the point of sleep. “Well I’m glad to hear that, babe. I know how much you care about him.” 

“Thank you,” she says on the back of a yawn. 

“For what?” 

She thinks about it for a second before saying, “For understanding? For being okay with… all this mess? Just… thank you.” 

“Like I said, I know how much you care about him. And I don’t even want to think about how crazy you’d be driving yourself if you didn’t know how he was, so-”

“Shite!” she shouts, sitting up in bed and feeling dizzy for her troubles. 

“What is it?” Greg asks, his voice drenched in concern. 

“Nothing, it’s just… I gotta go do something. I love you, okay?” 

“I love you too, but-”

“I’ll tell you everything later, I just… I gotta go.”

She hangs up on him at that, conscious of the fact that he won’t hold it against her. And a second later she’s making her way to Patrick’s bedroom. 

_I don’t even want to think about how crazy you’d be driving yourself if you didn’t know how he was,_ she thinks. And it’s true, it’s so blindingly _true._ But she’s also not the only person who’s probably going mad right now, and for some reason, Meg wants to put her entire attention into that. 

Maybe if she has a problem to solve, she won’t spend her time worrying her brains out. 

She knows she’s probably overstepping at least a hundred boundaries right now, but she hopes Aaron will forgive her for it as she hacks into Patrick’s computer in record time. 

She needs to find Robert, that’s her mission. She needs to find him and… like… make sure he’s okay. Make sure he knows _Aaron_ is okay. And sure, this could probably boil down to the fact that ever since Aaron mentioned him, she’s been wanting to clap eyes on this mysterious _boyfriend._ But she also wants to help people because that’s what Meg does. 

She’s a people helper. 

She’s always been just as good, if not better than, Patrick at finding stuff, but she’s never really found cause to tell anyone that. If her dad knew, he’d probably try and rope her into working for him, and that’s just not anything she wants in her life. 

So she kept it to herself, with Aaron being the only one who ever paid enough attention to her to notice. Perks of being the only girl in the family. But all of this means that it’s more than simple to find the information she wants in Patrick’s files. 

This Robert is rich, that’s where her line of thinking starts. Logically, the only place where Aaron would meet someone with money would be at work. And really, how many clients could possibly be named Robert? 

It turns out, there are two. A middle aged man with a wife and kids and a young businessman with an ex-wife and a flat in the heart of downtown. 

Once she gets a surname of the second and obvious Robert - Sugden - she looks him up online, just to make sure he’s the right bloke. And when she finds a photo of him, she knows she’s got him dead to rights. 

Aaron wasn’t lying when he said his Robert was fit. 

She analyzes the orders next, just because she doesn’t want to get this wrong. He’d been ordering party packs every week early on, which is just ridiculous unless he was throwing ragers in his flat every Friday. 

She imagines what it was like, Robert ordering the drugs without knowing what he’s getting, just to see a glimpse of Aaron. And it makes something warm settle in her stomach, even though she knows what she’s thinking is likely fantasy. But it’s something, anyway. The kind of something Aaron deserves. 

His orders changed after a while, midnight specials every few days from then until now. And again, either the bloke knows nothing about drugs, or he’s an addict. Meg knows which story she wants to read. And so she copies down Robert Sugden’s address, puts Patrick’s room back exactly the way she found it, and heads out of the house on a mission to soothe Aaron’s boyfriend’s worried soul. 

Or something. 

Because she’s a people helper, remember? And this is one person that needs her help. 

~*~

**_Seven and a half years ago…_ **

“Aaron! The film starts in twenty minutes and you know how I feel about missing the trailers.” She pauses in the middle of the upstairs hall, looks around helplessly before shouting, “Aaron!” 

His room is the last place she looks. And at first, it seems as if he’s not there either. The lights are off and he’s not on the bed, having a lie down like usual these days. But just as she’s about to close the door and check the kitchen for the fifth time, she hears a quiet sob from somewhere on the other side of the bed. 

“Aaron?” 

The sob comes again, and again, and again - three more times total before Meg rushes across the room to find Aaron sitting up against his bed, his head buried in his knees, pulled up tight to his chest. 

“Aaron, what’s… what’s wrong?” she says quietly as she crouches down beside him. When she reaches out to touch his shoulder, though, he flinches away from her. 

“Aaron, _please,_ talk to me,” she tries this time, her voice a little panicked because she’s not used to seeing Aaron like this. In fact, she’s _never_ seen him like this. And so whatever it is that’s bothering him, it’s got to be bad. 

He just pulls his knees tighter to his chest, though, the choking sobs slowing but the tears still coming by the sound of it. And it strikes her that all she can really do is sit here and wait, be a solid presence at Aaron’s side until he’s ready to talk to her, if he ever is. 

So that’s exactly what she does. She pulls her knees up to mirror Aaron’s pose, leans softly into his side and says a silent prayer of gratitude that he doesn’t pull away from that before simply waiting him out. 

Judging by the clock on the wall made out of an old hubcap, it takes twenty-eight minutes for him to speak. 

“Jackson’s dead,” he says shakily, the words startling her in their suddenness, like someone’s pulled a rug out from under her. 

Jackson, the guy Aaron has been seeing. Jackson, the guy Meg saw at the club all those months ago. And Jackson, the only guy Aaron has ever been with as far as she knows. 

“Oh, Aaron,” she says, her voice pained because even though she’s only ever seen him once, she knows how much he had to have meant to Aaron. “What… what happened?” 

He hiccups out another sob before looking up finally at her, his face looking like a punching bag as he says, miserably, “He was in a car accident.” 

“Aaron I’m… I’m _so_ sorry,” she says, reaching out to place a hand on his arm and feeling thankful that he lets her do it. 

“It’s my fault,” Aaron says on the back of another sob. His whole body trembling so badly it’s making Meg’s arm shake where they’re connected. 

She turns to face him head on, reaching out to tip his chin up before saying, “He was in a car accident, Aaron. How could that possibly be your fault?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know. It just… _is._ I never should’ve been with him, Meg. I never should’ve touched him. Everything I touch…”

He trails off there, looking down at where her hand is still clasped around his arm. And it’s like someone sends a jolt of electricity through him, the way he gets to his feet so quickly Meg’s surprised he doesn’t fall back over again. 

“You need to stay away from me,” he says darkly, his arms hugged around his stomach now, the way they do when he’s feeling vulnerable and unsafe. “You just… you need to stay away.”

“Aaron,” Meg tries, rising to her feet as well, a bit less gracefully than he did. “You’re not making any sense. Let’s just sit and talk about this, shall we?” 

“No, I mean it Meg. Just… _leave me alone,_ ” he hisses before moving around her, dodging her hand and heading for the door. 

“Aaron!” she calls out just as he makes his way into the hallway, but he doesn’t look back at her. 

He just doesn’t look back. 

~*~

**_Today…_ **

Meg’s pretty sure she’s only got one shot to get inside Robert Sugden’s flat, and she’s even surer that it’s not happening if she rings the buzzer. So she waits nine minutes total before a young bloke returns home, his eyes scanning her body and her bashful smile before he opens the door and lets her in. 

She has to make smalltalk with the idiot until they reach his floor, but it’s worth it once she’s outside Robert’s door, outfit pristine and unwrinkled, hair done up in a clean ponytail, and a smile plastered across her face as she reaches up and knocks. 

It takes seven knocks to get him to answer, and about halfway through Meg is worried that even though it’s a Saturday afternoon, he won’t be home. He is, though. After those aforementioned seven knocks he’s opening the door, and when he does, Meg freezes. Which is exactly the first impression she wanted to make. 

“Can I help you?” Robert asks as Meg tries to get her brain to start functioning like that of a normal human being. 

Instead of saying, _yes, you can help me,_ or some other proper response, the first words out of her mouth are, “Your picture doesn’t do you any justice.” 

Robert squints his eyes at her and says, “Excuse me?” 

“You’re well fit,” she explains, like that’s the problem he’s having here. “I mean, he way undersold you.”

Robert tips his head to the side and places his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, who are you again? Some kind of door-to-door compliment saleswoman?” 

Meg shakes her head. Literally. Shakes it good and hard to loosen up the cobwebs before she sticks out her right hand and says, “I’m sorry. I’m Meg. MacFarlane? As in Aaron’s Meg?” 

Robert’s eyes go comically wide before he slams the door in her face. 

_Rude,_ she thinks, as she plans her second route of attack. Because she’s not going home now. She hasn’t done what she set out to do, and if there’s one thing Meg is not, it’s a quitter. 

She gives him a good minute or two before she goes to knock again. Her fist doesn’t even connect with the wood, though, before the door is creeping open, so slow it almost makes her laugh. 

“Do you have a weapon?” he asks suspiciously as he peers through the few inches of space he’s allowed himself to speak with her. 

“You what?” 

Robert rolls his eyes at her, and suddenly, he’s even more attractive than he was before. 

“Is this some sort of wronged spouse encounter?” 

“What are you talking about?” she asks, honestly baffled. “He’s not my…” 

She trails off, something clicking in her head before she says, “Oh wait, I see what’s going on here,” because Aaron is the biggest, fattest liar on the face of the planet. 

She really should’ve known better. 

“I’m glad one of us knows what’s going on here,” Robert says, his voice completely put out like he’s the “wronged spouse” in this situation. “Care to fill me in on why you’re not scratching my eyes out?” 

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asks, her voice annoyed but not at the fit Ken doll in front of her. 

“Tell me what?” Robert asks, still annoyed, still attractive. 

“Look, do you mind if I come in?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for him to respond before she’s just shoving her way past him. Because this conversation is far too important to be having with one of them in the hallway and the other peeking out from behind the door like a scared housewife. 

“No, come right in, make yourself at home,” Robert says sardonically, which is exactly what Meg does, taking off her jacket and tossing it over the arm of the quite nice sofa taking up a large portion of Robert’s sitting room. 

“We’re not together,” she says succinctly, thinking that it’s best to put Robert out of his misery as quickly as possible. 

“Come again?” Robert asks, his voice cautious like he’s afraid he’s about to step into a trap of some sort. 

“Aaron’s gay.” 

Robert’s jaw tenses before he says thinly, “I believe the term you’re looking for is bisexual.” 

Oh man, Meg can _totally_ see why Aaron likes him. 

She laughs, probably the wrong response given how it makes Robert’s body language lock down entirely. But she can’t really help it. The boy is totally clueless. 

“No, I’m certain the term I’m looking for is _gay._ As in _doesn’t like women,_ me included.” 

Robert’s eyes widen again, but this time the shock is a pleasant one, seeing as how his lips quirk up ever so slightly at this new development. 

“So you’re not-”

“Together,” Meg interrupts. “Yeah, no. Not like that, anyway, like _together_ together. Aaron’s gay, I’m in love with Greg, and we’re only engaged because my dad wants Aaron to be an official part of the MacFarlane family. And since he’s too old to adopt,” she waves her hands in the air, “arranged marriage it is.” 

She loses Robert for a few seconds, his eyes going glassy as he looks back inside his own head, likely trying to figure out why Aaron’s been lying to him about this. But Meg really doesn’t have time for any sort of introspection so she says, “That’s not why I’m here, though,” because it isn’t. 

“Then why are you here?” he asks, cautiously again like Meg is just a series of landmines waiting to explode in his face.

“I’m here because Aaron was arrested last night.” 

~*~

**_Seven years ago…_ **

Meg is just getting home from university, and the first thing she does, just like always, is look for Aaron. 

He’s been working for her father ever since the pair of them finished college. Meg had tried to get him to keep going with his education, but he’d shut her down at every turn. And now her dad’s got his claws in him even deeper and the only recourse Meg has is to keep an eye on Aaron as best she can. 

It’s what she’s doing today, searching the house until she finds him, passed out face down on his bed. And normally she won’t bother him if he’s resting, but she’s in the mood for some Mario Kart and it’s just no fun to play alone. 

“Aaron,” she says softly, practically cooing as she shakes his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up as gently as possible. 

He doesn’t budge, so she tries harder, then harder _still_ until she’s starting to get a little worried about what’s going on here. 

She leans down by his face, feels his breath on her cheek. But even though he’s still breathing - thank god - it’s shallow, weak, just like the pulse she feels in his wrist. And now, Meg is sufficiently panicked. 

She pushes him over, trying to ignore how much he feels like a dead weight. But what she sees once he’s on his back frightens her even more than anything that came before it. 

His white t-shirt is covered in slashes of blood. 

“Dad!” she shouts, running from Aaron’s room and seeking out her father, thankfully the only other one home. 

He meets her on the stairs, his expression concerned as he asks, “What’s wrong?” 

Meg can’t even get a single word out, so she motions for her father to follow her and bolts back to Aaron’s room. 

Her dad does what she was too afraid to, lifting up Aaron’s shirt to expose the cuts littering his stomach, some deep and darkened with obvious infection. His voice calmer than anything Meg could possibly manage as he says, “Go get the car started,” in a way that’s impossible to ignore. 

She does as she’s told, pulling the car out of the garage at the same time that her dad is carrying Aaron out of the front door, laying him lifeless in the back seat as she and her dad switch places. And then they’re driving. 

Meg doesn’t see a single thing that passes her window. 

There’s a pain in her chest when they pass Aaron off to the nurses, as she watches him wheeled away into an examination room at A&E. And then, the only thing they have left to do is wait. 

She’s never been more thankful for her dad than she is today, sitting in a crappy waiting room that smells like bleach as she cries quietly into his chest, begging any sort of god that might exist that her best mate isn’t dying in the other room. 

A doctor comes to speak with them eventually, and the only word Meg can focus on is _septicemia._ She knows what that means. It means blood poisoning, it means _risk of death._ And Meg is going to kill Aaron if the septicemia doesn’t. 

They’ve got Aaron sedated later, resting in his own private room no doubt paid for by her father. And even though it’s past visiting hours, Meg refuses to leave Aaron’s side, refuses to let his hand go, refuses to let _him_ go, because after the way he’d looked in his bed, she’s afraid if she does, she’ll never get him back. 

Her dad is making another one of his coffee runs when Aaron finally wakes up, his eyes swimming and his voice groggy when he asks, “What’s happened?” 

Meg wants to tell him everything, wants to drill into him what he’s done to himself, but she can’t do that. Not to him. So she simply says, “You were a bit poorly, so dad and I brought you to the hospital,” and leaves it at that. 

His hand immediately reaches for his stomach, likely able to feel the bandages beneath the thin fabric of his hospital gown. And that’s when the ramifications of what happened today seem to sink in. 

“Why’d you do it?” Meg whispers, unable to keep the question in any longer. But Aaron just turns his head away from her, a silver tear slipping down his cheek as he closes his eyes to block her out. 

“You could’ve died, Aaron. You still could, by the look of you. Why can’t you tell me?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter as more tears slide down his face. 

“Fine,” she says, defeated, “I’ll leave you alone.” But before she can make it to the door, she’s stopped dead in her tracks by the words whispered from Aaron’s lips. 

“My dad raped me.” 

She turns around slowly to look at him, their eyes meeting from across the room. But when Aaron says, “I’m so-”, begins an apology Meg never wants to hear, she holds up her hands and says the word, “Don’t.” 

She’s by his side in two seconds flat, wrapping her arms around him and curling into his side, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again just in case he doesn’t know that yet. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he says between choked back sobs, and all it does is make her hold him tighter, longer, _forever._ Because if there’s only one thing in this world she’s certain of, it’s that she’s never letting him go. 

~*~

**_Tomorrow…_ **

“I don’t know whether to hug you or hit you,” Meg says as she goes in for a hug, the din of the police station swirling around her as she feels the solid bulk of Aaron in her arms once again. 

She and her dad have been waiting in the station for almost an hour for Aaron to be properly processed, and now that he’s here, she feels like she can finally breathe again. 

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asks, voiced muffled by the way he’s burying his face into Meg’s neck. 

“Like as if there’s anything that could’ve kept me away,” she replies with a kiss to his temple. 

He stands up and angrily wipes a single tear off his face. “You shouldn’t have come.” 

She smiles and pulls him into her arms again, whispering, “That hug says otherwise,” into his ear in a way she can just _tell_ is making him smile. 

“Alright you two, get a room,” her dad says from behind her, his tone joking even though she could tell how worried he’s been all day. “Preferably one without bars and a toilet.” 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Meg replies, but she lets Aaron go anyway. _Reluctantly._ But only so she can hold his hand instead. 

If Aaron’s got a problem with it, he doesn’t say. 

The three of them walk out of the station together, side by side by side, the moon hanging high in the sky, making it feel almost like day as they make their way to the car. 

There’s going to be proper talks once they get home. Something will be decided and Meg will likely hate it, but for right now, here, in this bubble, it’s just the three of them. And Meg is happy to live in that bubble for as long as she can. 

Patrick and Sean are still out when they finally get home, but true to obnoxious form, Liam is waiting for them in the sitting room as soon as they walk through the door. 

Aaron must be completely knackered because he doesn’t even roll his eyes at the intrusion. Her dad does, though, his voice tired and almost bored as he says, “Seeing as how you’re here, we might as well do this now.” 

“Do what?” Meg asks shakily, but her father’s eyes go immediately to Aaron, his hand rising to clasp onto Aaron’s shoulder as he says, “I’m going to need you to leave town until your hearing, let the heat die down a bit before you come back.” 

Aaron nods, as if a two-to-three week banishment is just a-okay. But before Meg can voice her displeasure, Liam beats her to it. 

“He should be sent away for good,” he spits out, as if he has any right to butt into this particular conversation. 

“Liam, I’m warning you,” her dad says lowly, but Liam just ignores him. 

Doubling down as he says, “No, I’m sick of this. He’s a liability. He always has been. And now the cops are onto him and you’re what? Sending him away for a couple of weeks on some sea break? It’s ridiculous!” 

Her dad moves quickly, striking out like a snake as he grabs the collar of Liam’s shirt and drags him up so that his feet are barely touching the ground. 

“You listen to me, boy, the only thing ridiculous right now is you. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that he is _family_?” 

“And I’m not?” Liam asks, a tremble in his voice. 

“Not right now you’re not,” her dad replies with disgust as he lets go of Liam’s shirt. “Right now you’re nothing but a spoilt child. I said my piece. You got a problem with that, you can take it up with me later. I’ve got to get to the club.” 

Her dad leaves at that, and Meg can almost smell the cordite in the room from the bomb her dad just dropped. 

“This isn’t over,” Liam says, his comment and his ire directed solely at Aaron. But all Aaron does is stare back at him, bored if anything, before he says, “I gotta pack,” and heads upstairs. 

Meg follows him, making sure not to look Liam in the eyes on the way because she’s not keen on getting into a fight with him right now. 

Aaron is standing by his bed when she finds him, stuffing clothes haphazardly into a bag. And Meg just rolls her eyes at that before taking both the bag and the clothes out of his hands and repacking everything for him, just like she always does. 

“Where will you go?” she asks once the silence has settled into something almost calming, if anything can be considered that right now. 

“I don’t know. Manchester, I guess,” he says with a shrug. 

She bumps her shoulder into his and smiles. “For real this time?” 

“Shut up,” he counters, but the way he bumps back into her shoulder tells her he doesn’t really mean it. 

“Why don’t you go to Robert’s?” she tries, bracing for the impact that never comes. Aaron’s silence telling her all she needs to know about how he feels about this prospect. 

“I’ll drive you,” she continues in the hopes that if she keeps pressing, ever so gently, he’ll do what he so clearly wants to do. “I’ll say I took you to the train myself.” 

Aaron scratches the back of his neck. “I may be lying low for a while. I don’t think he’s gonna want me around that long.” 

“Oh, I think he might,” she says, the words slipping out before she realizes how stupid they are to say. 

“And what are you, the expert all of a sudden? Why? Because I told you two things about him?”

“It was more than two things,” she replies, dancing around the fact that she actually _met_ him because she’s not really a fan of sharing that information just yet. “And I know because I… well, because _I know._ Just trust me.” 

“And what is this? Women’s intuition?” he says with a grin that makes Meg feel warm all over. 

“Yes. Exactly. It’s exactly women’s intuition. Now are you going to go stay with your boyfriend, or are you going to spend a few weeks camping out on Matt’s dusty sofa?” 

Aaron looks at her for a few seconds, holding eye contact before finally saying a reluctant, “Fine,” that almost makes Meg want to skip around the room. 

“Then it’s settled. Oh and please, for the love of god, tell Matt that you’re pretend staying with him. Because if I can get the truth out of him that easily, anyone can.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Aaron says with a laugh, and with that, Meg can’t resist hugging him for one more second. 

“I missed you,” she says as she buries her face into his chest. 

“I was literally gone for only twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, but it was a long twenty-four hours,” she says, trying to hold the tears in because Aaron is smiling now. Aaron is home, he’s holding her, and he’s smiling. And that’s really the only result she could have ever hoped for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: The next chapter is going to start off where that Meg/Rob scene ended. So if anyone feels as if they got cut a little short, fear not, we’ll get plenty more of them next chapter. :)


	16. Waiting On Words

“What do you mean Aaron was arrested last night?” 

The girl - _Meg_ \- has the audacity to roll her eyes at him. And oh yeah, she’s definitely someone that would get on well with Aaron, he can already tell. 

“Do I really have to explain it to you?” she asks with a tone far too familiar for his liking. “I mean, you look like someone who’s been involved in some light white-collar crime in your life. Are you telling me you don’t know what the inside of a prison cell looks like?” 

Robert tries incredibly hard to give her the benefit of the doubt. Her fiance-or-whatever was just arrested, so of course she’s going to be worked up. But his boyf-... his fuck bud-... his _whatever Aaron is_ was also just arrested, and they happen to be the _same exact person_ because life is just terrific. So Robert’s head is kind of spinning here. 

He pictures Aaron sitting in some cold, dank cell suddenly, and his whole body shivers with the thought. 

“How about we rewind this conversation and you tell me why Aaron was arrested, hmm?” 

She bites her lip and nods at him in a clear show of solidarity before saying, “The actual charge is resisting arrest, but that’s only because he managed to ditch everything incriminating before the coppers caught up to him.” 

Robert groans, wrapping one arm over his stomach and doubling over in what’s probably seen as dramatic fashion. But he doesn’t bloody well care what this Meg person thinks of him. He can’t help it right now. 

Aaron has been arrested. 

_Aaron has been arrested._

“It’s fine,” she tries to soothe, which is weird given both of their relationships to Aaron, her hands out in a placating gesture that almost manages to crack through Robert’s panic. 

“My dad is positive that everything is going to work out. The charge is trumped up anyway. He’ll be out tonight and once he shows up to court in a few weeks, he’ll be free, no harm done.” 

Robert barks out an incredulous laugh. “No harm done,” he mutters as he begins pacing his sitting room in disbelief of the fact that Meg can just stand there and say things like _charge_ and _court_ and _no harm done_ in the same flipping sentence. 

“It’s not like he hasn’t been here before,” she tries next, and _that_ … well, that doesn’t help one tiny little bit, does it? Because apparently not only has Aaron been arrested but Aaron has been arrested _before_ as well. 

What kind of strange, distorted BBC program is he living in right now? 

“Ignoring, for the time being, the fact that Aaron has been arrested before-”

“Never charged,” Meg interrupts, which he supposes is helpful. 

“Right. Ignoring that fact, how can you be so sure that nothing is going to happen this time?” 

Meg’s face pinches up as she begins to wring her hands together, a clear indication that Robert isn’t going to like what’s about to come out of her mouth. 

“Let’s just say that… em… my dad knows people. And those people… em… know things. And those things-”

Robert holds his hand up in an attempt to stop her rambling, saying the words, “I get it,” even though he really _doesn’t._ There have to be some benefits to being a part of the largest criminal organization in the city, though, and he supposes one of them is having a Get Out of Jail Free card tattooed between your shoulder blades. 

He’s happy that Aaron will not have to face prison time for whatever he did, but he’s also more than a little dizzy right now. 

“He would’ve chucked it,” she says suddenly. And Robert has no idea what she’s talking about until he follows her gaze all the way to his mobile phone still clutched in his non-gesturing hand. The one he’s been neurotically checking all night and morning, ever since Aaron failed to show at the warehouse. 

“What?” he asks, even though most of his brain has caught up to what she’s trying to say. 

“His mobile. It would’ve been incriminating, too. Both of them would’ve been. My guess is it’s smashed somewhere within a block or two of where he was arrested.” 

“Oh,” he says for lack of anything better to vomit out of his mouth. 

She takes a few steps closer to him, lowering her voice to something almost soothing as she rests her hand on his bicep and says, “It means he wasn’t ignoring you. He just had no way of contacting you, that’s all.” 

“And why is that important at this particular moment in time?” he says flippantly, raising his free hand to run through his hair and putting on an air of someone that couldn’t care less when, in fact, he probably couldn’t care _more._

She gulps, actually audibly _gulps,_ before saying, “It’s important because I need you to know that he cares about you before I say what I’m about to say next.” 

“And what, pray tell, are you about to say next?” he asks shakily, looking down at where her hand is still resting on his arm, squeezing a bit now as she looks up into his eyes pleadingly and says, “I love him.” 

Robert moves away from her immediately. 

“Not like that,” she corrects, reaching out quickly enough to grab his wrist and reel him back in. “I _care_ about him. Deeply. It’s why I’m here.” 

“What are you here to do then, eh? Warn me off?” he asks before shoving his mobile into his pocket and crossing his arms unwelcomingly over his chest, pulling out of her grip in the process. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m here to ask you to get him out of here.” 

You’d be able to hear a pin drop right now if not for the thudding of Robert’s heart. Because as much as he’d like to believe that Meg just means he needs to get Aaron out on a sea break or something, he instinctively knows she means something much deeper, more dangerous, and a lot more permanent. 

Robert still asks, “What do you mean?” because he needs her to say it before he can properly process it. 

“You need to convince him to leave, Robert. The city, the family, _everything._ He can’t stay here anymore.” 

“And why’s that?” 

She bites her lip again, her eyes calculating like she’s trying to figure out how much she can safely tell him before saying, “Since the engagement, things have been… hard.”

“Hard how?” he asks, not letting her off any hook in the general vicinity. 

“Pressure from my dad? Outright hatred from my brothers? Dad sees him as his heir apparent, my brothers see him as a giant threat, and we’ve been pushing the wedding back as much as we can, but it’s just too… too…”

“Dangerous?” Robert asks, forcing the word past the lump in his throat. 

She looks up at him and nods, her eyes already wet with tears. 

“How dangerous?” 

She straightens her posture, stands tall and strong before saying, “Dangerous enough that I’d rather never see my best mate ever again than have him spend one more day inside that house.” 

She pauses, letting the air settle around them before saying, “You need to convince him to leave with you,” like it’s just that simple. 

“What makes you think I’d want to go with him?” he says haughtily, self-defensively. And the look she pins him with says everything he needs to know about how well she’s been able to read him since walking through his door. 

“You saying you wouldn’t?” she challenges in a voice that says she already knows the answer to her question and more. 

He shrugs. “Fine. Whatever. What makes you think he’d even go with me then?” 

She nods her head a few times, backing up to put some space between them before she wipes at her eyes and says, “He told me about you, you know.” 

Robert can’t help the push of joy that presses against his lungs when he asks, “He did?”

She nods again, her words solemn when she says, “He’s never told me about anyone before. Never called anyone his boyfriend like he did with you either.” 

“You’re kidding me,” Robert says breathlessly, because she has to be. There’s no way Aaron called him his boyfriend. That’s just not like him. 

But Meg’s face is set in stone, her voice completely level when she says, “No, I’m not kidding,” and that... 

“That’s really big for him,” she adds in response to Robert’s completely and utterly stunned silence. “So I figured if anyone was going to be able to get him out of this… this _mess,_ it would be you.” 

All Robert can do is stare at her, his brain stalling out because it can't compute everything that’s gone on in the last twenty minutes or so. Aaron’s fiance is not real. Aaron has been arrested. Aaron is in danger beside that. And Aaron’s fiance wants Robert to run away with him. How is he even supposed to start to unpack all of that? 

“You don’t need to decide now or anything,” Meg says as if she can read his mind. “Nothing can be done until after his hearing anyway. But please, just think about it, yeah?” 

She takes his hands at that, drawing his attention from inside his head back out to her as he looks down and studies the tears still beading her eyes. 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t truly worried, and if… well, and if I didn’t think he’d be okay with you.” 

He’s not sure how true that last part is. Her eyes shift a little when she says it, which makes him think the sole reason he’s her _best_ bet is because he’s also her _only_ one. But it’s the thought that counts, right? And right now, she’s thinking awfully highly of him. 

“Give me your mobile,” she says next, the directive so off the path of what they’d been talking about that Robert takes his phone out robotically and hands it to her without even thinking. 

“Password?” she asks. 

He balks at that, waking up enough to say, “Why should I give you my password?” 

She rolls her eyes and huffs at him before turning the screen to face him. “Fine, then type it in yourself.” 

He does. Because his resistance only goes so far apparently. 

Her own phone vibrates in her pocket a few seconds later, and then she’s handing Robert his mobile back and saying a helpful, “I’ll text you when Aaron gets released. Let you know he’s safe. And you have my number now if… well, if you ever need it.” 

“Thanks,” he says, but the word comes out more like a question than anything. 

She still says, “You’re welcome,” though, a weird little half smile on her face as she adds, “Whatever way this goes, I’m glad I got to meet you, Robert Sugden. It’s not often, or ever, really, that I get to meet someone that Aaron has decided to let into his life.” 

“I’m glad I met you too, I guess,” Robert replies awkwardly. “It’s not often that I get to meet the fake fiance of the guy I’m seeing. Without getting punched, anyway.” 

She laughs at that, a short, sharp bark of it that makes Robert smile before he follows her to the door and lets her out. Leaving him inside, all alone, with nothing but his madly swirling thoughts to keep him company. 

~*~

He spends the day stress cleaning his flat, even going so far as to put a toothbrush to the grout on his kitchen backsplash. Because every time he tries to sit down, his body shakes so badly he needs to get right back up again. 

Eventually, though, he manages to exhaust himself enough to sit for a late tea in front of the telly. But the reheated pasta rests like a stone in his gut and even _Thor: The Dark World_ isn’t boring enough to put him to sleep like he’s hoping. So essentially Robert just waits there with his stomach rolling and his eyes burning as they stare at a film he can’t even hope to comprehend right now. 

Three and a half more Marvel films later, his phone vibrates beside him on the sofa. And he’s fumbling for it so quickly he almost lets it slip right through his fingers and onto the wooden floor before he manages to catch it. 

The text is simple, just four little words that make all the muscles in Robert’s body loosen incrementally: 

_He’s home. He’s okay._

It’s not much, but it’s enough to put Robert’s heart at ease. Which is why he doesn’t waste any time in stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed. Because it’s half four in the morning, he’s exhausted beyond belief, and Aaron is home. Aaron is okay. And that’s all Robert needs to know. 

He’ll worry about the rest later. 

~*~

He sleeps fitfully until the afternoon, never really settling in a bed that feels suddenly more empty than he can stand, his dreams plagued by horrifying images of Aaron alone and scared, covered in blood of his own making. Which is why he feels like death when he finally rolls out of bed in search of coffee and some food that won’t make him feel like heaving. 

He finds the former but not the latter, settling on a “breakfast” of coffee as dark as he can stand it and nothing else. And he almost feels like a vague resemblance of a human when the buzzer goes off in the hallway. 

He’s on his feet faster than he honestly thought possible, diving out of the kitchen and pressing the intercom button so hard he practically jams his finger. The word, “Hello?” spilling panicked and hopeful from his lips. 

“Hi,” Aaron says. And it’s only one word, so quiet he almost can’t hear it, but it’s _Aaron_ saying it, and Robert… well, Robert could just about cry, couldn’t he? 

He doesn’t say anything else, just buzzes Aaron in and paces the hallway the interminable amount of time it takes for Aaron to reach him. And then there’s a knock, quiet like Aaron’s voice had been. And then the door is opening. And then…

Aaron looks awful, but he also looks _relieved,_ like his strings have been cut as he drops the bag slung over his shoulder and collapses into Robert’s open arms. 

Robert holds him like their bodies will shatter if he doesn’t, his arms tight enough to hold Aaron up as he runs his fingers through Aaron’s unstyled hair and whispers, “It’s okay,” over and over into his ear. And maybe it isn’t, maybe nothing is ever going to be okay again, but Robert’s always been a good liar, hasn’t he? And what better time to lie than now?

When Robert tries to pull back from the hug so he can get a better look at Aaron, make sure he’s truly alright, Aaron refuses to let go. Which just makes Robert double down and hug him harder, pull him closer, press him to his body in a way that hopefully says _I’ll stand here and do this for the rest of my life if you want me to,_ because he will. He knows that now. 

Robert is _in this._

“‘M sorry,” Aaron mumbles when he finally lets his hands fall off of Robert’s body. 

Robert doesn’t let him go far, though, he just wraps his palms over the sides of Aaron’s neck, tipping his head up in the process and asking, “For what?” 

Aaron shrugs, a perfect gesture to match the lost look on his face when he replies, “I dunno. Coming here? Bothering you? You don’t deserve my mess just dumped on your doorstep like this. I’ve been… Robert, I’ve been arrested.” 

Robert blinks a few times in confusion before realizing that Meg evidently didn’t tell Aaron about her little visit. And for a moment, Robert struggles with whether or not he should lie here before he realizes that Aaron deserves better than that. 

So he picks up Aaron’s bag and guides Aaron into his flat, sitting him down on the sofa before he says, calmly, “I know you were arrested, Aaron.”

“How did you,” he starts to ask, his face scrunched up in confusion. 

“Meg was here. She told me.” 

Aaron blinks at him a dozen times or so, his expression so tired that Robert isn’t surprised he can’t process what was just said. And so Robert sits on the coffee table in front of him, places his hands on Aaron’s knees, and says, “She tracked me down somehow yesterday. She wanted me to know that you were safe, and to know that… that you’re not _really_ engaged to her.” 

Panic replaces the exhaustion on Aaron’s face, and normally, he might want to make Aaron sweat a little bit for his lie. This isn’t the time for that, though, so he just squeezes Aaron’s knees and says, “We can talk about all of that later. How about I make you some food, yeah? I have a feeling you haven’t eaten in some time.” 

“Can I just,” Aaron says slowly like he’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that Robert is willing to sweep his lies under the rug for the time being. “Can I just sleep?” 

Robert smiles warmly. “Of course you can sleep,” he says before grabbing Aaron’s wrists and helping him to his feet, slinging one arm over Aaron’s shoulders and guiding him back to the bedroom like he’s afraid Aaron will just disappear if he stops touching him. 

They don’t say anything as Robert helps Aaron get undressed, his chest loosening when he doesn’t see any new cuts on Aaron’s stomach. But once Aaron is under the covers and Robert goes to leave him in peace, Aaron reaches out with more strength than Robert thought he possessed right now and pulls him down. 

“Stay,” he says softly, his face half buried into his pillow. “Please?” 

Robert nods, wriggling out of his trackies and sitting up to remove his t-shirt before climbing under the covers with Aaron. Their bodies cold when they curl into each other but warming up quickly as Aaron presses a stubbled cheek to Robert’s chest and breathes out deeply whatever it is he’d been holding in. 

Aaron’s breath evens out almost immediately, his muscles loosening in relaxation as Robert rubs gentle circles over his spine. But as tired as Robert is, he can’t seem to get himself to fall asleep as well. And he realizes pretty quickly it’s because he’s still afraid. 

Afraid of what Aaron will say when he wakes up. Afraid of what’s coming in their future together. Afraid of everything Meg said and afraid of everything he _wants._ All the little things he wants with Aaron, and all the big ones, too. How he wants Aaron’s bag to mean something. To mean that he’s staying for a while, not that he’s running away and this is just goodbye. 

_Robert wants,_ and that is _terrifying._

But Aaron still hasn’t said anything to him about _them._ And yeah, he called him his boyfriend to Meg, but she could have been lying just to manipulate Robert into doing what she wants. 

Nothing is certain, is the point. Nothing is _permanent._ But for now, he’s got Aaron in his arms. For now, Aaron is sleeping calmly like a baby, like Robert makes him feel _safe._ And so anything else can wait, right? 

Anything else can wait. 

~*~

Robert must have fallen asleep eventually because it’s dark out when he hears his phone vibrating in the pocket of his trackies where he’d discarded them next to the bed. 

Aaron is still lying on top of them, so he lets the call go to voice message. When it starts ringing again, though, he begins to realize that he should probably get up and get it. 

It takes a few minutes and two more calls for Robert to disentangle himself from Aaron without waking him up. But once he’s done he realizes he probably didn’t need to bother being so careful. Aaron is out like a light. A bomb going off in the sitting room probably wouldn’t rouse him at this point. 

The number coming through isn’t one he’s programmed into his phone, which means it’s likely Meg. And part of him wants to just turn his phone off and curl back around Aaron, slip back into the sleep he’d finally found. But she’d gone to the trouble of finding him to assuage his worries about Aaron, and now he guesses it’s his turn to return the favour. 

He still waits until he’s in the sitting room to answer, the bedroom door shut tightly to give Aaron as much peace as possible. His voice rough around the edges when he slides the green button and says, “Hello?” 

“Jesus, finally! I thought I’d be calling all night!” she exclaims, diving right in without so much as a _hiya._

“Hello to you too, Meg. How is your evening going?” 

“Ugh!” Meg groans. “Fine. Hi, Robert. How are you? Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it? Can we please get to the point here? Aaron hasn’t been answering his phone. Is he with you?” 

“Yeah,” Robert says swiftly, succinctly so as not to continue her worrying for another second. 

“Oh thank god! Could you maybe tell him to answer his phone so I can talk to him? I’m worried sick over here.”

“He’s, uh, he’s sleeping,” Robert replies, nervous for some strange reason. “Has been since he got here this afternoon. Looks like he’s completely zonked out from what I can tell, which is probably why he wasn’t answering your calls.” 

“He’s sleeping?” she asks curiously, like she needs clarification of Robert’s statement. 

“Yeah, why? Should he not be?” 

“No, no, no, that’s not it. It’s just… I didn’t know he slept in other places, is all.” 

Robert is confused. So the only thing Robert can say is, “Huh?” 

Meg laughs at him, but it’s a soft laugh, not a mocking one so Robert will let it slide. 

“We used to go on these trips to see my grandma in Ireland when we were little, yeah?” she asks, causing Robert’s mind to stall out a bit because where the hell did this subject change come from?

“Okay?” he manages. 

“Anyway, when Aaron came to live with us, he started coming on the trips too. But the first few times, he didn’t sleep. Like, _at all._ Not a single wink.”

“Meg,” he starts, but she just interrupts him again, continuing her story. 

“My dad eventually had to start giving him pills to get him to knock off, but even then, it was always fitful.”

“And your point is?” 

“My point _is_ that Aaron doesn’t sleep anywhere but his own bed. He _can’t._ It’s a safety thing, I think, from his childhood. But he’s-”

“Sleeping here,” Robert fills in for her, his voice full of wonder as he thinks back to the few nights Aaron slept here the other week, how peaceful it had all been. 

“You’re safe, Robert,” she says with more than a little bit of awe, causing his mind to skip back to what he’d thought when they’d fallen asleep together earlier. “That’s…”

She trails off, leaving the blank to be filled in by Robert. And right now, that’s all his mind is doing - filling in blanks. Which is probably why he asks, “Do you know why he’s here?” Because it’s a question that’s been bugging him ever since Aaron showed up with more than an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean he just showed up at my door earlier and asked to go to sleep.” 

“He didn’t ask you then?” 

“Ask me what?” 

There’s a few moments of silence on the other end of the line before Meg says, more quietly than before, “Dad told him he had to get out of town for a while, until his hearing. He told everyone he was going back to Manchester but-”

“But he came here instead,” Robert finishes, his voice quieter as well as he looks at Aaron’s bag, sat next to the sofa, and lets the hope of what that could mean settle into his bones. 

“Look, Robert, I gotta go. Let me know if you need anything and just… be patient with him, okay?” 

“Patient with him about what?” he responds shakily. 

He can almost hear Meg shrug before she says, “Whatever he needs you to be patient with.” 

It’s a horrible answer, but it’s still one Robert accepts before they say their goodbyes and hang up. Meg’s words circling through his head as he crawls back into bed with Aaron, just as carefully as he left, and pulls all the warmth he can from Aaron’s skin. 

~*~

Aaron doesn’t get out of bed the next morning. Which makes sense, Robert guesses. He’s just been through a traumatic experience. He deserves a lie-in. When he doesn’t get out of bed all afternoon, though, or all evening despite Robert’s invites of food and television watching, Robert starts to get a little nervous. 

Aaron’s skin is clammy with sweat when Robert climbs into bed that night, having taken the day off work to spend it with Aaron only to spend it with the third season of _Game of Thrones_ instead. He’s not bitter, he swears he isn’t. But he has to go into work the next day and he’s a bit worried about leaving Aaron alone in this state. 

_He’ll get up in the morning,_ Robert assures himself. He’ll be talking again and moving again (has he even changed position at all, he wonders), showering and eating again, and things will be back to their own form of normal. 

“I made toast and coffee,” Robert coaxes on the second morning, but Aaron is still as a stone, and Robert…

Well, Robert calls in sick, doesn’t he? 

By nighttime he’s got his mobile in his hand, staring down at a number he still can’t bring himself to program into his phone. He’d made Aaron spaghetti, hoping that the smell of the meat and the sauce would lure him to the kitchen. But all he did was stay resolutely still, refusing to be baited. And Robert is at a loss for what to do. 

He hits send and hopes for the best. 

“If you’re calling me mid-sexcapade, you really didn’t have to,” Meg says in lieu of a proper greeting like a normal person, something that irks Robert more than he’d care to admit right now. 

“Are you like this all the time? Because if you are, no wonder Aaron’s not marrying you,” he bites out, taking his frustration out on her because there is _literally_ no one else he can use as an emotional punching bag right now apart from the living corpse lying motionless on his bed. 

“Oi, no need to be rude. I’m just playing with you. What’s going on in Lover’s Land?” 

Robert freezes for a moment, unsure of how to respond to her question, before he takes a deep breath and just plunges in. 

“He’s been in bed since he got here and I can’t get him out.”

The words come out in a rush, like one long word. And for a moment, he wonders if Meg’s silence means she didn’t understand what he said. Which is why he’s about to repeat himself when Meg beats him to the punch. 

She sighs deeply, her voice resigned, all of its earlier playfulness gone when she replies, “He does that sometimes.” 

That? Is not comforting at all. Nor is it helpful. Which is why he bites out a bitter, “Gee, thanks,” and moves to hang up the phone in agitation. 

“When things get on top of him,” she says before he can disconnect, “he just kind of… shuts down. Turns it all back on himself and lets it all bury him.”

“So this is about the arrest?” he asks, trying to work with her on this because she’s his only real hope. 

“That, and being stuck at yours, probably,” she says gently, like she’s trying to soften the blow. 

“He spent days here before without leaving and he was completely fine,” he defends. 

“Yeah, but that was by choice. This is by banishment. Look… he hasn’t had a lot of control over his life before, okay? So when what little he has gets taken away from him, he turtles.” 

Robert absorbs that information and lets it settle him, the idea of it being something temporary making him able to breathe again even while Aaron continues to _turtle_ in the other room. 

“So what do I do?” he asks, because that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? How does he even begin to help Aaron pull out of this? 

“You be there for him?” she says, more question than statement. “You do what you can to take care of him while he’s in the pit and you be ready to just… just hold him when he comes out.” 

His next question sits on the tip of his tongue for almost a minute before he asks it, the silence giving him absolutely zero confidence to ask, “Why is he like this? Did… did something happen to him?” 

He thinks of the scars, the cuts, the bruises. Thinks of the nightmare, the _don’t touch me._ And he’d be afraid of how much his voice is trembling right now if he cared even a little bit what Aaron’s fake fiance thinks of him. 

She pauses just as long as he did, her own voice seemingly distant when she replies, “It’s not my story to tell, Robert. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

That answer gives him absolutely no comfort whatsoever, but the conversation on the whole helped a little bit. Helped _enough_ for him to lie next to Aaron that night, run his fingers through Aaron’s sweat damp hair and kiss his forehead before lying next to him, giving whatever space he needs to feel safe enough to come out of his shell. 

_You just have to wait,_ he reminds himself. Be there for him and _wait._ But waiting has never been his strong suit and right now, with Aaron still lifeless beside him, he knows why. 

~*~

Aaron’s eyes are open the next morning, staring at Robert’s face, and Robert could cry from relief at seeing that beautiful blue again. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says as he cards his fingers through Aaron’s hair. 

Aaron doesn’t lean into his touch, but he doesn’t shy away from it either, so Robert will take that as a win. 

“Hi,” Aaron replies, his voice rough from disuse, the word as vacant as his expression. And Robert has to swallow once hard before he can say anything so as not to freak Aaron out with how upsetting this all is for him. 

“You want some food?” he asks. “I could knock you up some scrambled eggs.” 

Aaron stares at him for a few seconds before shaking his head slowly. And Robert does his best not to let his heart sink at the refusal. 

He hasn’t eaten in days. That can’t be good for him. 

“Is there anything I can get you? Want me to help you into the shower?” he asks as soothingly as he can, but Aaron just shakes his head again. His eyes trailing over every inch of Robert’s face before he asks, “Would you… would you tell me a story?” 

Robert scrunches his eyes in confusion and asks, “What about?” 

Aaron shrugs, or he makes a close approximation of it, lying on his side and weak as he is. His voice still so distant it makes Robert ache when he replies, “Anything. Something true.” 

Robert nods, wishes so hard that he could just scoop Aaron up into his arms right now, hold him until he’s better. But he doesn’t want to push things. Aaron is awake, Aaron is _talking,_ and Robert would like to keep up the momentum as long as he can. 

So he says, “I have a brother. Well, an adopted one anyway. His name is Andy.” 

Aaron blinks at him, the only sign that he’s even still with Robert at all. 

“He was my best friend before my parents adopted him, but after that… well, let’s just say things went downhill fast.” 

Robert lets his eyes drift away from Aaron’s for a second before realising Aaron’s eyes are the only thing he wants to look at when he says, “He killed my mum.” 

If Aaron latches on to the gravity of Robert’s statement, he doesn’t show it. Robert doesn’t take it personally, though, as he continues. 

“He burned down our barn to try and get the insurance money for my dad, but my mum was in there. She… she died and it’s his fault and I don’t think I can ever forgive him for that.” 

He wipes at a stray tear slipping down his cheek and for a second, something flashes across Aaron’s expression. Something that looks like sympathy, that looks like _care._ And Robert is so grateful to see even a glimpse of the real Aaron that he finds the strength he needs to keep going. 

“We’ve never got on, especially not since mum, but everyone has always picked Andy’s side over mine on everything. He was always the Golden Boy, the one my dad wanted to pass his livelihood on to. I was always just the screw up. It’s why… it’s why I ended up here.”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrow a little bit, just for a split second, but it means so much more to Robert than that. 

“There was a car accident with him and our friend Max. We were playing chicken and Andy crashed. His car caught on fire and I was able to get him out, but before I could go back for Max, the car exploded.”

He’s never told anyone about any of this, he realizes. Not Clive, not Chrissie. No one knows why he was forced to leave his home but for some reason, he wants Aaron to know. Even if he can’t understand it right now, he wants him to _know._

“My dad told me to leave, to leave Emmerdale and never come back, and so I did. I came here and I made myself a new life but… but it’s always been my home. I’m… I’m scared that it always will be. That I’ll never be able to have a home again, and as far as I see it, it’s all Andy’s fault.” 

Robert buries his face in his pillow at that, lets the tears come as he hiccups out tiny sobs for everything he’s lost. And he’s so wrapped up in his own misery that he almost jumps clear off the bed when he feels Aaron’s hand wrap around his forearm. 

He turns his face to look at Aaron, and while his expression is still slack, there’s something in his eyes now. Something compassionate that Robert didn’t even know he’d been needing for years now as Aaron says a soft, “I’m sorry,” and squeezes Robert’s arm weakly in commiseration. 

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” Robert says, hoping that Aaron gets the double meaning here. That what happened with Andy was obviously not his fault, but that what’s happening now isn’t either. And for a brief, shining moment, Aaron smiles at him. 

It’s gone before Robert can even commit it to memory, and Aaron’s eyes are closed a second later, his hand slipping off Robert’s arm so he can curl his fist under his pillow. But even if he can’t quite picture it, he knows it was _there._ And for now, that’s enough. 

  
~*~

Robert feels wretched the whole day at work. He spends the majority of it playing with his phone, desperate to call or text Aaron even though he knows he won’t respond, and getting very little actual work done in the process. Which no doubt makes his boss not best pleased with him, only Robert doesn’t care. 

The only thing he cares about right now is back in his flat. 

As he’s riding the elevator up, he’s thinking of all the bad scenarios that could be about to play out on the other side of the door. Which is why he’s completely floored when he walks in and sees Aaron on the sofa, watching the telly. 

He wants to jump for joy, but he also doesn’t want to embarrass himself. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you up,” Robert says before internally kicking himself for choosing such an insensitive thing as his opening salvo. 

Aaron shrugs. _Aaron shrugs._ And Robert almost melts into a puddle of goo. 

“I was hungry,” Aaron says, his voice a little more _his_ than it was this morning as he motions to the half empty pizza box on the coffee table. Which means not only did Aaron get out of bed, but Aaron _ordered pizza_ and _ate half of it._

Robert can hardly _contain_ his joy. 

“That still warm?” he asks as he kicks off his shoes and nods towards the pizza. 

“Probably not. But cold pizza is kind of a delicacy, innit?” 

Aaron just said _delicacy._ What is even going on here? 

“I suppose you’re right,” Robert says as he plops onto the sofa a good distance from Aaron, just in case. Reaching to grab a slice of pizza and shoving half of it into his mouth before mumbling, “What are we watching anyway?” 

“Top Gear marathon,” Aaron replies, grabbing the remote and trying to hand it to Robert as he adds, “But if there’s something you want to watch…”

“No,” he says before swallowing. “This is good. Think you’ll be hungry for tea? I was going to make beef bourguignon tonight.” 

He wasn’t. He was going to heat up some Chinese leftovers stuck in the back of his fridge. But he’s pretty sure he has the necessary ingredients if Aaron’s game. 

“Sure,” Aaron says with a nod and a smile - bloody hell an actual _smile_ \- and Robert almost slides off the flaming sofa. 

They end up watching Top Gear for a few hours before Robert gets up to make tea. And he’s fully well expecting Aaron to stay on the sofa, wrapped in his television induced bliss. Which is why a gasp is actually startled from him when he looks up from his search of the fridge and sees Aaron standing there with a hopeful little look on his face. 

“Need some help?” he asks. 

“Yeah, here, take this,” he says, trying not to let on to how much his body is flipping _vibrating_ right now as he hands the beef up to Aaron so he can fish out the other ingredients. 

He smells amazing. Just in one whiff, Robert can tell that Aaron smells _amazing,_ which means he’s obviously showered today as well. 

It’s like Christmas come early. 

The rest of the night is almost entirely normal. They cook together, eat together, watch a film together. And even though they’re not touching at all, Robert still feels like things are finally back on track. Which is why, as they’re lying in bed that night, facing each other but still not touching, he risks bringing up what he found at work today. 

“I have an idea,” he starts, making small steps in the hopes that it’ll get him safely to the end goal. 

“That sounds dangerous,” Aaron replies, and Robert could kiss him, that’s how happy he is to hear Aaron’s cheek. 

“This one isn’t dangerous, I swear. And you can say no… obviously you can say no, but… do you remember that band you were listening to the other week? The Arctic Monkeys?”

Aaron blinks a few times before saying a suspicious, “Yeah?” 

“Well, they’re playing Albert Hall, in Manchester you know? They’re playing this Friday, and I was wondering - and again, you don’t have to feel any pressure to say yes - but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go. With me.” 

Robert smiles shyly and waits for the hammer to fall. 

“Like a date?” Aaron asks, which is not at all what Robert was expecting. 

“We could call it that, if you like,” Robert says before holding his breath in anticipation of Aaron’s answer. 

It isn’t grand, it’s nowhere near a declaration of like, let alone love. But the way Aaron shrugs and says a simple, “Sure, sounds like fun,” means the moon and stars and every flaming thing in between to Robert. 

He went to bed last night to a silent, immovable Aaron, and tonight he’s going to bed with a date in his pocket. Miracles really do happen. 

~*~

“You have absolutely nothing you can wear to a concert,” Aaron says in exasperation from where he’s sitting on Robert’s bed. Or _their_ bed as Robert has taken to calling it in his head. 

Aaron had spent the rest of the week much like the other day, sitting on the sofa watching television. But with every passing day, every passing meal, every passing shower, he’s gotten better. More color in his skin, more expression in his eyes, and more excitement in Robert’s belly. 

Meg has been over the moon too, judging by her and Robert’s text conversations. But that’s neither here nor there. 

Right now, Aaron is gleefully ripping apart Robert’s entire wardrobe, displaying a level of haughtiness that Robert never knew existed with him. 

“What about this one?” Robert asks, pulling out yet another shirt from his closet. 

Aaron turns his face up in disgust. “That one has elbow patches.”

“And this one?” Robert tries again. 

Aaron looks him dead in the eye and says bluntly, “It’s paisley.” 

“And what about this one?” Robert asks, pulling out one of his favourite shirts. 

“That one has stripes.” 

“Barely!” he retorts. “And what? It’s patterns that you have a problem with?” 

“And elbow patches. Can’t forget those,” Aaron replies cheekily, and Robert has never wanted to tackle him to the bed more than he does in this very moment. 

They still haven’t touched each other since Aaron showed up on his doorstep almost a week ago. But for some reason, that doesn’t bother Robert. He’s just enjoying being mates. 

“Fine,” Robert concedes, “What about this one? It’s plain, no patterns, no elbow patches. It’s even your favourite color.”

Aaron tips his head in evaluation of the plain black shirt in Robert’s hand before licking his lips and saying, “That might work.” Before Robert can head into the ensuite, though, Aaron removes his own hoodie and tosses it at Robert. 

“Here, try this with it. And leave the shirt untucked.” 

“Yes, boss,” Robert replies with a mock salute that makes Aaron snort. And then Robert can finally hide behind a closed door for a few minutes. 

His heart is beating abnormally fast, adrenaline pumping through his system as he thinks about the fact that he and Aaron are actually going on a real date tonight. Robert even took the time to find the perfect pub near the venue for afterward, because ever since his turtling Aaron has been eating like a teenager in a growth spurt. 

He’s so excited thinking about all of that that he doesn't realize that he’s putting on an article of Aaron’s clothing until the smell of his deodorant and body wash assault Robert’s senses. 

He’s never worn Aaron’s clothes before. Aaron’s worn plenty of his, but never the other way around. And this hoodie… this is one of Aaron’s favourites and he knows it. 

It’s soft, worn in in that perfect way that makes it feel like a second skin. And it smells so much like Aaron that tears actually spring to Robert’s eyes at the sense memory. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Aaron calls out, shaking Robert out of his reverie. And with one final look in the mirror to check his hair, he’s rejoining Aaron in the bedroom. 

“Will I do?” Robert asks, self conscious in a way he almost never is. 

“You know, you actually look almost quite fit in that,” Aaron says assessingly as he drags his eyes down and up Robert’s body. “Just one more thing, though.” 

He hops off the bed at that, coming to a stop right in front of Robert. And Robert has to hold his breath so as not to do something inappropriate as Aaron reaches out and undoes the top three buttons of Robert’s shirt. 

“There. Perfect,” he says with a pat on Robert’s chest. And Old Robert would’ve tried for something here. He would’ve grabbed Aaron’s hips, claimed his lips, walked him back to the bed that’s just as much his as it is Robert’s. 

But Aaron’s eyes are still a little hooded and Robert is learning not to push. Because Aaron would probably go with it if Robert tried something. Aaron _always_ goes with it. But just because he’s up for it doesn’t mean he _wants_ it. And it scares Robert, what made those marks on Aaron’s body, why he screams _don’t touch me_ in his sleep. So he doesn’t push. 

Robert will _never_ push again. 

He just waits for Aaron to grab another hoodie and follows him out to the car. Because tonight, they’re going on a date. And nothing can stop them now. 

~*~

Robert is not what you’d call a concert type of bloke. He can probably count on one hand how many concerts he’s been to in his life, and all of them were likely to get into the pants or knickers of whatever man or woman liked the band. 

He likes music, he supposes. Can sing along to some of what’s on the radio these days. But live music has never been his thing. 

Tonight might just change that. 

For starters, the venue is gorgeous. An old church complete with stained glass everywhere, Robert feels like he’s walking into a jewel box the second he steps inside. 

He got him and Aaron pit seats, which are actually not seats at all but rather entrance passes to stand in the large, open area at the front of the stage. 

Robert had apologised for his lack of foresight, but Aaron had just laughed and told him these were the best “seats” in the house. So apparently he did good. 

The venue is gorgeous, though, the seats are acceptable, and the sound is so all-encompassing that Robert can’t even hear himself think for the duration of every song every band plays. 

He can totally understand why Aaron enjoys coming to shows. It must feel like a giant mute button for his mind. 

Robert keeps supplying them with drinks as the night wears on, always at Aaron’s request. And the slight buzz working through his system only enhances the concert-going experience for him. So much so, in fact, that when the headliner takes the stage and Aaron reaches down to grab his hand, he almost moans in pleasure. 

He might as well have. It’s not like anyone would be able to hear him in the sea of noise. 

Aaron keeps hold of Robert’s hand throughout the set, his face getting more and more animated so that by the halfway point, he looks a half dozen years younger at least. He looks _free,_ in fact, like the weight of the world that he’s been carrying around has been suddenly removed. 

Robert has never seen him like this, and he will take Aaron to every single concert in England if it means he keeps looking _just like this,_ his hearing be damned. 

At one point, Aaron stands up straight and looks around, clocking something in the distance before squeezing Robert’s hand and dragging him towards the loo, in the end. 

He shoves Robert inside, pushes him toward the stall farthest from the door and locks them both behind the metal door before Aaron quite literally attacks him. 

His kiss is frantic, his hands seemingly everywhere on Robert’s body before they zero in on his belt. But before Aaron can drop to his knees, Robert grabs his shoulders and holds him up. 

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, his expression so confused Robert would find it cute if this weren’t such a serious moment. 

“You don’t have to do this, Aaron,” he says, his voice wavering only slightly over the intense push of want coursing through his veins. 

“I know,” Aaron replies, and that, more than anything else he could’ve said, puts Robert’s mind at ease.

“Hey, look at me,” Aaron continues, grabbing Robert’s chin gently and twisting his head so that they’re looking in each other’s eyes. 

“I’m not doing this because I feel… indebted to you or whatever. I’m doing this because you’re fit as fuck and if I don’t get your cock in my mouth right now I might just pass out, okay?” 

All Robert can do is nod in response to Aaron’s words, nod and gulp before Aaron pats his cheek, kisses his lips quickly, says a giddy little, “Good!” and drops to his knees. 

Aaron gives amazing blowjobs, he always has. But tonight, he brings out his A-game, working Robert with an expertise that should make Robert uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t. Robert has a hunch that anyone that came before him is inconsequential at best. What had Meg said? Robert was the only one he ever talked about, the only who he called “boyfriend.” So where Aaron learned to do what he’s so effectively doing right now is not important in the slightest. 

What is important is the way Aaron’s tongue traces the underside of Robert’s cock, or the way he sucks at the tip just before swallowing him down in one fell swoop. Robert’s voice strained and desperate when he says, “I can’t believe you’re blowing me in a church,” because that, apparently, is where his mind is. 

Aaron pulls off momentarily to comment back, “It’s not a church anymore. Now shut up and let me finish.” 

Robert nods, mostly because Aaron’s mouth is back on him and he’s incapable of speech. So he just nods, shuts up, and lets Aaron finish. 

~*~

“This is the best burger I’ve ever tasted,” Aaron says around a mouthful of black angus. 

Robert laughs lightly to himself before saying, “That’s good. I’m glad you like it.” 

“What’s so funny?” Aaron asks as he puts his burger down and sits up straight as if ready for a fight. 

“Nothing, you’re just… well, let’s just say your table manners could use some work.” 

Aaron flicks two fingers up at Robert, almost as if to prove Robert’s point, before returning to the mastication of his meal. 

“So, tell me more about your brother,” Aaron says once he’s moved on to his chips. 

Robert just blinks at him for a minute, though, not sure where this is coming from much less where it’s going. 

“Andy, right?” Aaron asks, a little more unsure of himself, his eyes almost begging now, asking to be let in. 

“You were listening?” Robert asks instead. 

Aaron nods. “To every word. I heard you, I just… it was like you were talking through a thick blanket, and like I couldn’t talk back. You were there with me, though. I just… I knew you were there the whole time.” 

Robert smiles, all soft and warm as Aaron ducks his head shyly away from him, wiping his lips on his napkin as a cover. And Robert knows without any doubt that the way he feels about Aaron he’s never felt about anyone else before in his life. 

No one even comes close. 

“I slept with his wife,” Robert blurts out because he’s certain Aaron won’t judge him for it. A fact proven by the way Aaron just looks back at him with interest, nothing else. 

“The night before their wedding,” he adds because why not, right? In for a penny and all that. 

“This was obviously after your mum, right?” Aaron asks, pushing his plate aside so he can give Robert his undivided attention. 

“Right. I thought… well, I told myself it was because I loved Katie, that’s his wife. But really if I’m honest, it probably goes back to my hating his guts.” 

“He took your place,” Aaron says levelly. 

“With Katie?” 

“No, with your dad. That’s what it is, right? You were angry that he took your place with your dad. Liam, my brother, he’s like that. He’s hated me from minute one and honestly, I can’t blame him. Even I don’t know why Cal likes me more than his own sons.”

“Why he wants you to marry Meg?” Robert asks. 

Aaron just nods solemnly. “She told you all about that, didn’t she?” 

Robert shrugs. “Parts.”

“Yeah, well, none of it is real, if that means anything to you. I used to think I had the bottle to go through with it, but now…”

“Now?” Robert asks, suddenly desperate to know the end to that sentence. 

“Now things are different, aren’t they?” 

It’s not a question Robert is supposed to answer, but it’s one that’s been banging around inside his head for weeks, if not longer. 

_Things are so much different._

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Robert asks. 

It’s Aaron’s turn to shrug. “Because sex no strings, right? I didn’t think it mattered. Didn’t think I mattered.” 

“It does,” Robert says, more boldly than he ever thought possible. “You do.” And the way Aaron looks at him…

The whole bloody world is in that look. 

“Thank you for tonight, by the way,” Aaron says, slicing through the tension of the moment in a way that only he can. 

“For the concert? I think the debauchery in the loo more than covers it,” Robert replies with a laugh. 

Aaron just looks at him with this serious expression, though, something Robert can’t read dancing in his eyes as he says, “No, for _tonight._ For helping me feel… I don’t know… like a normal person. It’s been a while.”

He stares at Robert for a long minute, neither one of them willing to break contact before Robert finally says a simple, “You’re welcome,” because what else is he supposed to say to that? 

What else is he supposed to say to _him_ other than three words that shouldn’t be rattling around his brain this early. Three words he’s not sure he’s ever even meant before. 

Three words that could make or break everything they have. 


	17. Hurt Like Mine

The side of the tub presses hard into the backs of Aaron’s thighs, cutting off blood flow and cramping his legs, yet he still can’t bring himself to move. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here, staring off into space, but his internal clock is telling him that Robert will be home from work soon. And he can’t have Robert finding him sitting here like some sorta mental patient. He doesn’t deserve that, to be saddled with a mess like Aaron. 

It’s been a struggle, acting like he’s okay these last ten days. He wants to do it for Robert, reward him for how good he’s been during all of this. But sometimes it’s just... hard. Like he’s trying to walk through quicksand only every step just pulls him further down _hard._

He should be used to this by now, pretending to be normal. He’s done it for most of his life. But for a minute, at the concert, he’d actually _felt_ that way. Like a normal bloke on a normal date with a somewhat normal, fit guy whose smile could make Aaron feel like he was soaring. And so coming back to Leeds, coming back to the crushing weight of his reality, only made it that much harder to pretend. 

Which is why he’s sitting in the loo in just his boxers, staring at a razor on the edge of the sink that’s been taunting him for the better part of the afternoon. It’s why he still feels dirty even though he’s taken three showers today. Why his skin is rubbed raw and his eyes are bone dry. Why he’s pretty sure if he could get to his feet right now, he wouldn’t be able to stay there. 

Because Aaron might be stupidly falling for Robert Sugden and because falling for _anyone_ is a mug’s game and he knows it. 

~*~

**_One week ago…_ **

The smell of sauteed onions fills Aaron’s nose as he continues cutting up the peppers for the sauce. 

He’s got no clue what Robert’s cooking tonight. Robert told him a few times already the name of the dish, but each time he said it, it was gone from Aaron’s memory a second later. The one thing he does know is that the peppers are, “Very important, Aaron, don’t look at me like that, why would I tell you they were important if they weren’t?” 

Translation: Robert is trying to make Aaron feel useful while doing a task so menial even he couldn’t possibly mess it up. 

Of course Aaron proves Robert wrong less than five minutes into the task when, instead of slicing the pepper in front of him, he practically shaves off a layer of his own finger. 

He stares at the blood seeping from the wound, winding down into his palm and falling onto the kitchen counter. And he knows it hurts, he’s still acutely aware of the feeling of _pain,_ but his thoughts are so suddenly muddled that all he can do is watch the scene play out before him. 

“Aaron!” Robert gasps as he comes up behind him, the level of concern in his voice not quite matching the lack of seriousness of Aaron’s injury. 

“You’re bleeding,” Robert adds super helpfully, Master of the Obvious that he is, and grabs a towel so he can take Aaron’s hand into his and cradle it gently in a way that makes Aaron want to squirm away. “Sit down and keep it elevated. I’ll go and get the first aid kit.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, but only when he’s sure Robert isn’t looking, and then he does exactly as he’s told. 

He can hear Robert rummaging around in the loo, can almost make out his panicked mutterings before he’s racing back into the kitchen and practically slamming the kit onto the table like he’s in bloody A&E and not his flat. 

It might be cute if it weren’t so frustratingly unnecessary. 

“Let me see it, yeah?” Robert asks eventually, his voice sugar sweet like he’s talking to a five year old as he brandishes an alcohol swab and motions for Aaron to remove the towel from around his throbbing finger. 

It’s still bleeding because _of course_ it’s still bleeding - Robert’s knives are stupid sharp and Aaron is lucky he didn’t cut down to bone - but the way Robert almost whimpers at the sight makes something wrench in Aaron’s chest. 

He’d call it fondness if he didn’t know better than to think he’s really capable of feeling that for a man he’s only been having sex with for a few months. 

“We’ll get a plaster on this right quick and then you’ll be as good as new,” Robert assures him as he swipes the swab over the main part of the cut, bracing for a violent reaction that Aaron doesn’t give because the pain he’s feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain he’s felt on numerous occasions in the past. 

Robert gives him this look, a half a second of worry that makes Aaron wish he’d just pretended to flinch, but the moment passes when Robert stuffs a handful of cotton balls into Aaron’s free hand. 

“Hold these to the wound while I get the plaster ready,” he says, so seriously that again Aaron can only think the word _cute._ He once more does as he’s told, though, because Robert seems to care a lot about the outcome of this situation and who is Aaron to begrudge him that? 

“Does it hurt?” Robert asks once the plaster is on and all the bloody supplies are tossed in the bin. 

“No it doesn’t, mother hen,” Aaron bites out playfully from where he’s still stuck to the kitchen chair. 

“Grumpy git,” Robert counters before leaning down to kiss Aaron’s breath away. And there’s a different kind of heat to this kiss, like two bodies lying together trying to share warmth. And Aaron’s whole flaming system is flooded so quickly with gratitude that he almost topples out of the chair. 

“Want I should do the peppers?” Robert asks cheekily as he pulls out of the kiss, adding a quick nip to Aaron’s bottom lip on the way. 

“Shut up,” Aaron grumbles, pushing Robert further away so he can get to his feet. 

“If I would’ve known it was such a difficult task, I wouldn’t have asked you to do it. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

He knows what Robert’s doing - he’s making a joke of the whole thing so that Aaron doesn’t feel bad about it. But for some reason right now, his tactics are working. 

It’s why he pins Robert against the counter, why he kisses him hard enough to bruise, and why his voice is heavy with arousal when he says, “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you.”

“That’s not as big of a threat as I think you think it is,” Robert replies with the smug grin that Aaron secretly loves. “But I suppose I could put my mouth to better use if really pressed.” 

Robert spins him then, presses Aaron into the counter he’d been cutting vegetables at ten minutes ago, and sinks to his knees, taking Aaron’s sweats and boxers with him. 

Needless to say, it’s a while before the peppers get cut. 

~*~

They’re having a little dinner party tonight, hence the fancy dish Aaron can neither pronounce nor remember. Also hence the reason why Aaron is in Robert’s bedroom trying to find the nicest outfit he’d stuck into his bag when he hears the buzzer go. 

He freezes at the sound, not because he’s afraid of the person on the other side of the door, but because he’s afraid of what this whole night means. 

Robert had sworn up and down that there was nothing deep to read into this, but Aaron isn’t stupid. In a few minutes, he’ll embark on his first ever double date with two of the most important people in his life plus Greg. And if that doesn't _mean_ something, then nothing in this world does. 

He listens at the bedroom door as Robert welcomes their first guest, Meg and Greg coming separately so as not to arouse suspicion. And it’s Meg that shows up first because there’s no possible way for it to be anyone else. 

Give her a chance to stick her neb into something and she’ll douse her whole face. 

“How’s it going, Sister Wife?” Robert says as he opens the door, the nickname making Aaron smile as he tries to ignore his two worlds quite literally colliding in the next room. 

They’ve collided already before. Hell, Robert and Meg’s phones have been colliding all week. So there’s really nothing to bother him here. 

“Very funny,” Meg’s voice reaches him, her tone indicating that she actually did, in fact, think Robert’s joke was funny. And if Aaron closes his eyes, he can see the exact look on her face. The pinched tight expression of someone trying their hardest not to smile. 

He knows that look well. 

“Are you going to let me in or what?” Meg asks a second later, to which Robert replies, “Last time you didn’t really ask.” And Aaron has had enough eavesdropping for today. It’s time to get dressed, go out there, and be a real person. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of one.

Greg has arrived by the time Aaron has picked out his nicest black jeans and a green jumper that looks alright on him. And the way Robert beams at him when he exits the bedroom is really a bit too much, even for Robert. 

It’s like trying to look at the flaming midday sun. 

Greg approaches him with his hand already out, his expression eager as he says, “It’s so good to finally meet you, Aaron. Meg has told me so much about you that I feel like I know you already.” 

“Uh-huh,” Aaron replies, reluctantly shaking Greg’s hand in the process. “Let’s just get this out in the open now. If you hurt her, they’ll never find your body.” 

“He’s kidding!” Meg calls from the front hall. 

But Aaron just squeezes Greg’s hand tighter, leans in a little closer, lowers his voice and says, “I’m not kidding.” 

Greg is still smiling by the end of his threat, which means Meg must have been totally lying when she spoke of him. But just as he’s about to try again, find something a little more intimidating to say, Robert walks over and literally sweeps Aaron away. 

“Play nice,” he says under his breath before kissing Aaron’s cheek to soften the blow of the reprimand. 

“I make no promises,” Aaron whispers back, and that’s really the best he can offer. 

Meg has told him practically everything there is to know about Greg, and he sounds decent, sure. _On paper._ But if he sees or hears anything off tonight, he won’t hesitate to step in. 

He may not really be engaged to her, but Meg is his person. And you take care of your person no matter what. 

The conversation at dinner almost immediately turns to work, which isn’t a surprise given that three of the four occupants of the table are in the business sector. The back and forth of it all is so boring to Aaron, though, that once he’s done eating, he spends the majority of his time playing with the plaster on his finger. That is, when Robert isn’t slapping his hand away from it like he’s some bratty child. 

“I’m sorry, we must be boring you,” Greg says at one point, which is, of course, painfully accurate. 

But Aaron just smiles and says, “No, not at all,” because he’s polite when he wants to be. And given the fact that Meg has been using the puppy dog eyes on him all night, Aaron actually _wants_ to do well here. 

“Well this is all boring me,” Meg interjects because she’s great like that before faking a yawn and adding, “Aaron, Robert’s told me he’s gotten you into _Westworld._ ” 

“Uh,” Aaron stalls as he whacks Robert’s leg under the table for giving away his secret, a move that causes Robert to pinch him in retaliation, the smug grin never leaving his face for a second. 

“I’ve watched season two three times now, and I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it until Aaron here explained it to me,” Robert says proudly in a way that simultaneously makes him want to kiss him and whack him again. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not saying much coming from the bloke that couldn’t even figure out that Bernard was a host,” Aaron snaps back, relishing the way Robert’s hand slides over his thigh at his words. 

“You didn’t get that one?” Greg asks, excitedly playing along. “I figured that one out at least an episode or two before the reveal.” 

Aaron rests his forearms on the table and leans in. “He didn’t even figure out that Billy was the Man in Black.” 

“Oh come on, who else would it have been!” Greg exclaims, causing Robert to make this amazing _harumph_ sound. 

“How was I supposed to know there were two timelines going on simultaneously?” he asks. 

“Because the whole season was about reveries and the memories of the hosts,” Aaron replies, leaning back so he can rest a hand over the one still running slowly up and down his thigh, linking his fingers with Robert’s and squeezing. 

“Yeah, well, I just watch for the beautiful scenery.”

Aaron snorts. “Yeah, and by scenery you mean the fit naked blokes and women.”

Robert pinches him again, the attack surprisingly enough to make Aaron yelp quietly. And he’s about to say something in response to Robert, but Meg picks that time to start squealing. 

“You too are so cute!” she exclaims when both he and Robert finally look at her. 

“We are _not_ cute,” Aaron says at the same time that Robert replies, “Thank you.” And if he didn’t think it would make Meg squeal again, he’d totally wallop Robert one right now. 

They’re gonna have words later. Maybe. Probably not. Okay, definitely not. But still. Robert is an idiot. 

Later, as they’re all sitting around the table drinking - three red wines and a lager - Aaron says a quiet, “Be right back,” and heads for Robert’s bedroom. 

It isn’t that he’s not having fun. Surprisingly, he sort of is. But his head is so mashed that he just needs a few minutes of quiet to refocus. So he splashes some cold water on his face in the ensuite then sits on the edge of Robert’s bed and just _breathes._

Right as he’s starting to find his center, there’s a quiet knock on the door. And he’s expecting Robert, which is why he’s surprised a second later when Meg pokes her head around the door. 

“Can I come in?” she asks, which is more than he gets when they’re at home. So he nods in response because all of a sudden he’s too tired to do anything more. 

“What’s up?” she asks as she takes a seat next to him, placing her hand on his thigh in a way both similar to and vastly different from Robert’s gesture. 

Aaron shrugs, but Meg just takes that as an opportunity to move closer to him. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right Aaron? In fact, I believe we made a pact once, ages ago, that said we _had_ to tell each other when something was the matter. There was even spit involved, which means it’s a super tight pact.” 

He can hear a laugh in Meg’s voice as she falls back into the memory, which is why it’s weird that Aaron somehow decides to ruin it all by saying, “I feel like cutting.” 

“Okay,” she says, her voice calm like it always is, sweet and gentle like the mum he never got to have. “Do you know why?” 

Aaron shakes his head before thinking better of it and nodding. 

“It’s hard, being normal,” he says. 

“For Robert,” Meg adds, and it’s not a question, it’s a statement. One that Aaron simply nods to. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Meg asks a few seconds later. 

“‘Course.” 

“What is normal?” 

Aaron… freezes. His whole entire mind just shuts itself down, the silence of his reboot filled up by Meg when she says, “Because as far as I can tell, you’ve been normal since the day I met you. Do you have things you need to work out? Sure. We all do, Aaron. But that doesn’t mean we’re not _normal,_ and it doesn’t mean we’re not deserving of good.” 

She turns to face him at that, reaching across his body so she can hold both of his hands when she says, “You deserve Robert. I know you don’t think you do, and I know that belief is making you feel and want to do all sorts of not great things. But I want you to start working on getting yourself to believe you deserve him. Can you do that for me?” 

He nods, causing a few stray tears to slip from his eyes. But he just lets them fall because holding Meg’s hands is more important right now. 

“I’m proud of you, Aaron,” Meg says a moment or two later. 

“Why?” he asks, honestly stumped. 

“Because you told me you wanted to hurt yourself? Because I’m assuming you _haven’t_ done. Because you’re _fighting back._ That’s more than enough to make anyone proud.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Aaron says as he ducks his head so he can hide his face. Meg just tugs on his hands, though, to get his attention. 

Her voice more tentative than before when she says, “It might help if you tell him.” 

“Tell who what?” 

She squeezes his hands even tighter as if she’s afraid he’ll bolt. “Robert. About… about your dad.” 

Something rears up inside of Aaron at that, an insurmountable wall around the one thing he never wants Robert to know. 

“But it’s okay if you can’t,” Meg corrects herself almost immediately as if she can see the wall, too. “You’re doing amazing without all that. And I stand by what I said earlier. I’m proud of you.” 

Aaron smiles at her, imagining that this conversation is over and feeling almost good for having it, when her face suddenly falls. 

“While we’re being all open and honest and everything, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says seriously, and dread pools in Aaron’s gut immediately. 

“Are you okay?” he asks shakily, his mind flying in a dozen different directions, to a dozen different scenarios that involve Meg getting hurt. 

“No, no, it’s not like that,” she assures him, her voice a little brighter as she scooches even closer to him on the bed. “It’s just… well… you see-”

“Meg,” Aaron interrupts. 

“Yeah?” 

“Just tell me. I can handle it, whatever it is,” he says as strongly as he can, because now’s clearly the time for him to be there for Meg. And he’s more than capable of doing that. 

“Right,” she says with a nod. “So Greg’s company, they… they…” She closes her eyes before forcing the words, “they’re transferring him to London and he wants me to go with him,” out of her mouth at an alarmingly fast rate. 

“Meg, that’s great,” Aaron says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. 

“Is it?” she asks, opening one eye so she can peek out at him. 

It’s his turn to squeeze her hands tighter, a smile splitting his face as he says, “Of course it is. You love him. He loves you. What’s not to like?” 

She nods, smiling back at him only her eyes are watery now, her smile faltering as Aaron asks, “What is it?” 

Her voice is thin and quiet when she says, “I don’t want to leave without you.” 

“I’m not going to London,” he says bluntly, because he’s not. He loves her and he’ll miss her, but he’s not just going to leave his whole life behind because she wants to move out with her boyfriend. 

“I don’t mean that, Aaron. I mean I don’t want to leave you _here,_ I don’t want to leave you here alone.” 

“I’m not alone,” he says defensively. 

“Maybe not the way you were before you met Robert, no, you’re not. But you can’t stay here. It’s not good for you.”

He pulls his hands out of hers, backs away from her because he just needs some distance as he says the words, “I’m fine.” 

She tips her head and puts on her judgy expression, one of his least favourites. “No, you’re not. You basically just told me as much. And you never will be fine until you get out of here.” 

“We’ve been in here too long,” he says, getting suddenly to his feet and heading for the door. “Robert and Greg will be wondering where we are.” 

“Aaron!” Meg snaps, standing up and reaching out to stop him from leaving just yet. “Promise me that you’ll think about it at least. You can promise me that, can’t you?” 

Aaron thinks about the last promise he made Meg, the one where he told her he wouldn’t cut anymore, and how the weight of the failure to keep that promise is still heavy on his shoulders. 

He still says, “Yeah, sure,” though, because all she’s asking him to do is _think_ about it. And Aaron can think about it because _no, hell no,_ and _not a chance_ are all thoughts, aren’t they? And that’s as far as he has to go. 

~*~

“So what were you and Meg talking about?” Robert asks later that night. 

They’re in bed, still awake in the wee hours of morning even though Robert has work tomorrow because Meg and Greg stayed late and because once they were gone, he and Robert couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. 

Aaron leans tighter into Robert’s side, skin on skin, as he presses a kiss to Robert’s chest and asks, “When?” 

It’s a stupid question and they both know it. Aaron knows exactly what Robert is talking about, and Robert knows that Aaron knows exactly what Robert is talking about. But Robert is still willing to play along, judging by his light tone when he says, “When you were in the bedroom together. You were gone a while, so…”

He lets the question trail off, obviously hoping for Aaron to pick up the thread of it. But instead of doing that, he makes a complete one-eighty and asks, “How come you never talk about work with me?” 

“What?” Robert manages to spit out a few seconds later, once his brain has caught up to the sudden change in topic. 

“At dinner. All three of you talked about work a lot, but you never do that when it’s just you and me. I was wondering why.”

He wasn’t wondering. He couldn’t possibly care less. Robert is an adult, so he can talk about what he wants, when he wants. But if talking about _this_ will distract Robert from pushing about his and Meg’s conversation, then he’s more than willing to play the part. 

“I always assumed you would think it was boring,” Robert says, his voice sad in a way that Aaron can’t entirely read. 

“So it wasn’t, like, because you think I’m stupid?”

Robert laughs at that. A surprised bark of it escaping his mouth before he tips Aaron’s head so they’re looking at each other and says, “Aaron, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You don’t need a degree for me to be able to see that. Now what were you and Meg talking about in the bedroom?” 

Plan: Failed. 

“We were talking about… about my cutting, okay?” Aaron asks snippily before burying his face back into Robert’s chest. 

There’s almost a full minute of silence in which Aaron thinks the topic is dropped before Robert asks, “Do you still want to do it?” 

“No,” he says, but it’s an instinctual answer, the lie always better than the truth. Except maybe Meg was right. Maybe he should tell Robert… _something._ Maybe he should take the risk. And so he corrects, “I don’t know… maybe.... sometimes.” 

It’s still a lie, but it’s closer to the truth than the pair of them have ever been. And Aaron feels breathless from speaking it. 

“What else have you done?” Robert asks, his voice so genuine it makes Aaron’s heart hurt. “The cutting, the boxing, is there… anything else?” 

Aaron thinks about the alleys, the clubs. But the truth can only stretch so far for him and so he says, “No, that’s it,” because as far as he’s concerned it is. 

He’ll never go back to that place.

Robert curves his body so he can kiss the top of Aaron’s head, his voice almost pained now when he says, “Thank you… for telling me. I know it must have been hard and I know you didn’t have to, so just… thank you, Aaron.” 

_You’re like a dream,_ he thinks as tears start to prick his eyes. _Like someone else’s dream, one where I don’t belong. And every time I’m with you, it’s like I’m just waiting to wake up._

He thinks that, but he doesn’t say anything at all. 

~*~

It’s been over three weeks since he last spoke to Emile. Some of that was because of the arrest and the ditching of his phone, but the majority of it simply had to do with Aaron bottling it. He was too busy before coming to Robert’s, and now that he’s here… well, now that he’s here he doesn’t want to leave this world for even a breath before he has to. 

It’s not safe to meet Emile right now anyway. That’s what he really tells himself. He still doesn’t know who grassed him up, and until he does, he can’t risk deviating from the norm. 

He assumed it was Liam at first, but if Aaron hadn’t’ve gotten rid of the gear, it would’ve been bad for the whole family, Liam included. Even Liam isn’t stupid enough to risk that. Which means someone else out there’s got it in for him. And until he finds out who, he’s out of commission and he knows it. 

He needs to at least text Emile, though, even if it would be a bad idea to tell him about the arrest. Just thinking about how many times Emile might’ve tried to text or call his old number makes Aaron a little queasy. But he’s been sitting on Robert’s sofa for over an hour trying to figure out what to say and he’s still got nothing. 

He’s so lost in it, in fact, that he doesn’t hear Robert returning home until he’s leaning over the sofa and running his hands down Aaron’s chest. 

“Who’s Emile? Should I be jealous?” he asks into the bend of Aaron’s neck, his lips touching so lightly it sends goosebumps shooting across Aaron’s body. 

“Mmm,” Aaron hums as he tries to weigh out the chances that giving Robert head right now will make him stop caring about the answer to his question. 

He decides to just give him a straight answer instead, mainly because he’s trying not to use sex as a commodity anymore. So he says, “It’s just something with work,” and tips his head to give Robert better access. 

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asks between licks along the side of Aaron’s neck. A technique that’s turning Aaron’s mind to mush. 

“Leaving what?” 

“Work,” Robert says before sucking hard on the curve of Aaron’s jaw. But there’s something in his voice, in the tone of that one word, that sets off warning bells in Aaron’s head. 

So Aaron pulls away from him - reluctantly. Aaron turns so that he’s fully out of Robert’s reach - also reluctantly. And, most reluctantly of all, he asks, “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” Robert asks with a face no one would kick out of bed. Which is just his style, innit? Play dumb and innocent until the last possible minute, then play dumb and innocent all over again. 

“Why are you asking about my work?” Aaron replies as sternly as he can with the feel of Robert’s lips still on his skin. 

Robert tries to stare him down, his expression indicating that he’s debating whether he should cut bait here or not. But in the end he drops his head, shoves his hands in his pockets, and walks around so he can sit next to Aaron on the sofa. 

Robert looks up at him a few tense seconds later, his eyes all open and warm and inviting (the prat) when he says, “I’m asking about your work because I’m genuinely interested in whether or not you’ve ever considered leaving it.”

The word _no_ is right on the tip of Aaron’s tongue. It would be so easy to say it, to lie here, tell Robert he’s never once questioned whether there was something else out there for him, away from Leeds. But he’s trying to be honest, like Meg said, and so instead he says, “Sorta once,” in a way that seems to strain his insides to the point of breaking. 

Robert nods his head in an invitation to keep going. And Aaron, for some reason, _does._

“There was this guy. Jackson,” he says tentatively, each word like a bullet pressing through his skin. “I was… well, I was eighteen and he wanted me to go to France with him.”

That’s the simplest version of the story Aaron could give, but Robert will just have to take it or leave it. 

“Why didn’t you?” Robert asks, his voice smooth enough to charm a viper as he slides down the sofa so he can rest his hand on Aaron’s thigh. 

Aaron looks down at his lap, mentally traces the line of each of Robert’s fingers before saying, “Before I even got a chance to figure out what I wanted, he died.” 

Robert’s hand squeezes, but that’s the only physical reaction he has before asking, “How?” 

It doesn’t feel invasive, nothing with Robert ever has. And so Aaron feels just barely comfortable enough to say, “Car crash,” before his body involuntarily sags back into the cushions of the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He shrugs, finally looking Robert in the eye again when he replies, “S’okay. We weren’t that serious.” 

Robert seems to swallow that information, storing it away for later before asking, “And you never thought of doing it after that?” 

He shrugs again. “Never had a reason to, and it seemed kinda pointless n’all by that point. The MacFarlanes are the only family I’ve ever had. Why would I leave?” 

Robert studies him for a long moment, and then he leans in, kisses Aaron gently on the cheek, and says quietly, “I really am sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“That he died.” 

Aaron has to bite the inside of his cheek hard before he can say, “Don’t be. Like I said, we weren’t that close. And it weren’t about him anyway. He could’ve been anybody.” 

He feels guilt pool in his gut at the truth in that statement, but Robert’s voice brings him back from the edge like it’s done so many times in the past.

“Well, I’m sorry that you didn’t get to go out there and live your life then,” he says with another squeeze of his hand. And for the briefest of seconds, Aaron actually feels the same. 

~*~

There’s a little spot on Robert’s body, just below his left hip bone, where if you suck on it, he’ll turn into an incoherent, babbling mess right before your eyes. 

Aaron has been working that spot for the last ten minutes at least. 

They took their time getting here, making their way from the sofa to Robert’s bed, their kisses lazy, their movement moreso, until they finally, ages later, ended up mostly naked on the bed. 

Robert’s still got one sock on and Aaron’s still wearing his boxers, but other than that…

“You better do… do s-something or I’m gon… gonna hyperventilate,” Robert pants, his fingers twisted in Aaron’s hair, tugging just shy of painful. 

All Aaron does is double down. 

“I can feel you smiling, you git,” Robert adds, smacking Aaron upside the head before grabbing his shoulders and dragging him up his body. 

He pulls Aaron into a kiss, one of maybe hundreds they’ve had since meeting and yet every single one seems different to Aaron, _means_ something different. And right now, the only word on Aaron’s mind is _ease._

Robert always, without fail, puts him at ease. And he’s doing it again now, swiping his tongue into Aaron’s mouth in between sucking on Aaron’s lower lip. And as Aaron starts to drag his hips along Robert’s, creating a slow friction that burns through his blood like kerosene, Aaron realizes that he could do this forever if given half a chance. 

He could be with Robert here, in this bed, _forever._

Aaron moans at the thought, breathing the noise into Robert’s mouth as Robert reaches down to shove Aaron’s boxers over his arse before using his hips and legs to work the fabric down Aaron’s legs. But for some reason, when Aaron glances back, the single sock remains. 

It’s black, with a blue heel and blue toes, and Aaron hopes Robert doesn’t realize he’s still wearing it and take it off because there’s something almost charming about it. 

He rolls Aaron over instead, pinning him to the bed and rolling his hips down into Aaron’s, which would be completely fine with Aaron, if they just did this. But Robert is whispering into his ear a second later, practically purring the words, “Turn over,” straight into Aaron’s flaming soul. And so Aaron does as he’s asked and turns over. 

Robert reaches for a pillow next, pressing it under Aaron and propping him up before leaning in, spreading Aaron’s cheeks, and pressing a gentle kiss to his arsehole. 

“Is this alright?” Robert asks, his voice shy but his actions anything but as he licks gently around the muscles ringing his entrance. And Aaron remembers this, remembers the first and only time they’ve done this as Robert continues trying to lick his way softly inside of Aaron. 

He’s overwhelmed by memories suddenly, of who he was back then, of how he felt. But before he can let himself get too far down that path, Robert hums a quiet, “Shhhh,” into his skin. 

“It’s okay,” he says as he massages the muscles in Aaron’s arse. “You’re okay. We can stop if you want to.”

“No,” Aaron bites out, suddenly aware as he is that he doesn’t want this to stop. That the him he was is gone, and the way he feels is different. “Want… more,” he says instead, and he’d be surprised at how true that statement is if not for the fact that Robert is the one doing this to him. 

Anyone else and Aaron would run a mile, but Robert? 

Robert is _different._

Robert is also a person who takes direction well, which is why his tongue is back inside Aaron in a heartbeat. The pressure and heat driving Aaron crazy in all the _right_ ways as he works Aaron open with just his mouth. 

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, the release that comes from actually _wanting_ this. His whole body is tingling from it, in fact, as he begins to rock into the pillow beneath him, desperate for the pressure. 

“Here, let me,” Robert says silkily before grabbing Aaron’s hips and pulling him onto all fours. And then he wipes his hand through the precum on Aaron’s cock and glides his palm smoothly upward. 

His mouth is back on Aaron’s arsehole a second later, and Aaron is acutely aware of the fact that this was Robert’s plan all along - to get him off with just his hand and mouth. And it pains Aaron, not being able to give anything back right now, but he’s also so out of his mind from what’s happening that he can’t think straight. 

He begins to pant as Robert’s hand speeds up, pumping him just the right side of hard as he begins sucking on Aaron’s hole. And when Robert adds a single finger inside of him, Aaron can’t take anymore. 

He comes hard, the blinding kind of orgasm that he’s only ever had with Robert. And then the only thing he can do is collapse in his own mess, groaning as Robert falls down with him. 

“Fuck,” Aaron mumbles into the bed sheets. And that’s what ends up making Robert laugh, one carelessly placed curse word and he’s absolutely losing his shit. 

“Geroff me,” Aaron mutters next as he tries to buck Robert off of him. But Robert isn’t budging, and he’s not stopping his laughter either. Which should probably annoy Aaron only it… doesn’t. 

“You’re sick, you,” Aaron says clearly once he finally manages to turn his head. 

“And you’re covered in cum, you,” Robert says giddily before he finally rolls off Aaron’s back and settles next to him. 

Aaron reaches out blindly for Robert’s dick, wanting to at least return the favour. But he doesn’t quite find what he’s expecting. 

“Took care of yourself, didja?” Aaron asks, unimpressed. 

Robert just beams at him, though. The look on his face so proud and smug Aaron doesn’t know if he wants to kiss it or punch it. 

“I’m a multitasker,” Robert says, and Aaron…

Well, he kisses it, doesn’t he? What other choice does he have? 

They’re lying in bed a while later, the window open a crack to cool the sweat that collected on their bodies. And Aaron feels so abnormally safe that he finds the courage to ask, “What if they keep me?” 

He’s got court tomorrow, and despite Cal’s assurances, he’s still scared. 

Robert kisses the top of his head and says confidently, “They won’t. You didn’t do anything, Aaron.” 

“I wasn’t _caught_ for anything, you mean,” Aaron says miserably. 

Robert huffs at him before maneuvering him so that they’re lying next to one another, looking each other in the eye. 

“They’re going to let you go,” he says as he strokes Aaron’s arm. “And then you’re going to come back to me and lie in my arms and then everything will be perfect.” 

He doesn’t believe him, but he has the decency not to tell him that. 

“It’s going to be weird not having you here when I get home from work,” Robert continues on a yawn, his eyes glazing over a little like he’s lost somewhere in his head. “Or when I wake up. I’m going to… I’m going to miss you, Aaron.” 

The look on Robert’s face is so open, so genuine right now that Aaron can feel his insides shattering. His own voice shaking from it all as he asks, “Really?” 

Robert runs his thumb along Aaron’s cheekbone. “Of course, really. Are you going to miss me?” 

_Yes,_ Aaron thinks. _Like you wouldn’t believe._ But he can’t bring himself to say it. He’s not as brave as Robert is. So he moves across the space between them, presses his skin to Robert’s skin, and holds him tighter than he ever has before, hoping that that’s answer enough. 

~*~

**_Today..._ **

There’s been moments… he knows there’s been moments when things have been real. Last night was a prime example of how, when Aaron just lets everything else fade away into the background, he can feel like a whole person again. They’re just snapshots, frozen moments in time, but they’re _there._

It’s the only reason why he hasn’t put the razor to his stomach yet like his mind has been crying out for him to do. 

He’s running out of time, though, and maybe that’s what he’s trying to do. Wait it out, force the issue. Because Robert is gonna be home soon, and either Aaron is gonna pull himself together and present Robert with a picture of the self that Aaron wants to be, or Robert’s gonna have to walk in on this and then…

Well, it’ll be all over then, won’t it? 

That’s what he’s thinking about when the lynchpin gets pulled - which outcome would be easier for him in the long run. The choice is still being weighed in his mind when there’s a soft knock on the door and Robert is waltzing into the loo, completely oblivious to the battle being waged on the tile floor. 

“Meg dropped off your suit,” Robert starts in immediately, his voice chipper as it cuts through the gloom in Aaron’s head. “I caught her outside the building and told her I’d take it up. I think she was a bit disappointed, though. She clearly wanted to come up and see you herself, but I told her she’d have all the time in the world with you once the hearing was over and you were officially ‘back from Manchester,’ and so she let the matter drop.”

Robert’s speech drops just as effectively as the matter apparently had once he’s done hanging Aaron’s suit on the back of the door, his eyes clocking the razor on the sink immediately before they slide over to Aaron. 

He doesn’t look upset, he doesn’t even look scared or anything, he just looks sad, and for some reason, Aaron imagines that’s the worst possible expression he could be wearing right now. 

He’s already made Robert sad enough, and here he is, doing it again. 

“Aren’t you gonna yell at me?” Aaron asks, his voice so raw from disuse it doesn’t even sound like his own anymore. 

Robert balks a little in confusion. “Why would I do that?” 

Aaron shrugs, letting his eyes drop to the floor because if Robert is about to kick him out for good, he doesn’t wanna watch it happen. 

“I don’t know,” he says defeatedly, “because it’s what people do?” 

“What people?” Robert asks, still so genuinely confused it’d almost be heartwarming if Aaron’s heart weren’t frozen over right now. 

“You know. _People._ ” 

“Well, I’m not the type of _people_ that’s going to yell at you for something like this, and frankly I’m a bit hurt that you think I am,” he says before sitting on the floor in front of the sink, straight in Aaron’s eyeline between him and the razor. 

“Sorry if that’s a disappointment,” Robert adds as he pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them loosely, his face so unreadable Aaron couldn’t pin down an emotion right now even if he wanted to, which he’s not sure he does. 

“I don’t wanna do it,” Aaron says, surprised by the fact that it’s mostly the truth. Then he repeats the phrase four times, pressing his fist hard into the side of his head every time he says it in the hopes that it might dislodge his thoughts enough to feel like _him_ again. 

Like Robert’s. 

“Oi, be nice to that head,” Robert says as he reaches out to grab Aaron’s wrist, force him to stop hitting himself. “I quite like that head.” 

“Why are you here, Robert?” Aaron asks as the tears he’s been holding back since he came into the loo and found Robert’s razor in the cabinet above the sink finally start to work their way out of his eyes and down his face, falling uselessly into his lap. “Why do you even want me?” 

Robert rises to his knees so he can take both of Aaron’s hands in his, but not before swiping gently at the tears on his face, a useless effort given how freely they’re leaking out right now. 

“I couldn’t even count all the reasons why I want you,” he says so earnestly it makes Aaron wanna believe him so badly it hurts. “Much less say them. But I’m here because I want to be, Aaron. I’m here because I want _you._ From the first moment I saw you, I’ve wanted you. 

“At first it was just physical, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t see how special you were back then. And I know I cocked a lot of things up because of it, but you kept letting me back in and that _meant something_ to me. _You mean something to me._ So if you think I’m just going to walk away and let you sit here and do whatever damage you want to do to yourself without even trying to fight back, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

Aaron looks up, really _looks_ at him, sees the truth in what he’s saying. Which is why he feels the strength he needs to speak his own truth when he says, “I don’t know why I’m here.” 

Robert sighs a little at that, a small smile working its way across his lips before he leans in and pecks a kiss to the tip of Aaron’s nose before saying, “Because you want to be here. Don’t you?”

Aaron looks at his lap again, feels the way Robert’s nose slides along his temple when he nods because it’s true. He _does_ want to be here, more than anything. He just still can’t get his mind around the fact that he _deserves to be._

“Then that’s all that matters,” Robert says simply, _so simply._

And all Aaron can think to reply is, “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve _you._ ” 

Robert actually laughs at that, his voice full of mirth when he replies, “Funny, because I feel the same way about you.” 

He doesn’t believe it, not yet. He _can’t._ But it’s a nice thing to say anyway as Aaron raises his head and looks Robert directly in the eye, unafraid for the first time all day. 

He can’t say the same for Robert, though. There’s something in his eyes right now that looks very much like fear, which is why Aaron really shouldn’t be surprised when he asks, “What happened to you?” 

Aaron tries to look away, but Robert just lets go of one of his hands so he can tip his chin up, maintain eye contact when he adds, “You can trust me, Aaron. It won’t go any further.”

Suddenly, blindingly, Aaron wants to tell him. He wants to just open his mouth and let it all spill out. But he’s still afraid that Robert will run, that when he sees the _real_ Aaron, the one that’s clawing beneath the surface, he’ll run a mile. 

He wants to give Robert _something,_ though, open up his chest and let him see him, at least a little bit. And so, with shaky hands and a shakier voice, he says, “I was raped.” 

Robert’s face looks pained, but not as deeply as Aaron had expected. Which is why he says roughly, “You don’t look that surprised.” The thoughts of Meg, of all her little chats with Robert spiraling through his head as he wonders if Meg would really do that to him, betray him like that. 

“I was worried it was something like that,” Robert says softly, and maybe that’s really all there is to it. Robert has always been an intuitive person with him, maybe he really did just suss it out on his own. 

“When did it happen?” he asks next, and this is the moment. This is the place where Aaron can finally be truly honest with him. The make or break it _moment._

And all Aaron can say is, “Once, when I was twelve.” 

_Liar._

“Jesus. Who… who was it?” 

“A football coach,” Aaron replies. 

**_Liar._ **

And Robert… well he just takes everything Aaron says at face value, doesn’t he? 

It’s why Aaron blurts out, “I wanna do better,” because he does. “I don’t want you to leave me.” 

Robert looks genuinely confused again when he asks, “Who said I was going to leave you?” 

Aaron pulls his hands out of Robert’s so he can hug his own chest. “I’m a freak, Robert. Why wouldn’t you?” 

“You’re _not_ a freak,” he says adamantly. “You just… you’ve got some problems. We all have. But we’re going to fix yours. Whatever it takes, right?” he asks, and Aaron nods at him because it’s the absolute least he can do right now. 

“You can’t do this for me, though,” he continues a bit more quietly than before. “Or for Meg. You have to do it for you, Aaron. You have to want something better for _you._ That’s the only way this is going to work.” 

Aaron nods at him again, a bit stronger this time as he pulls in a slow, deep breath and waits for whatever Robert is gonna say next. 

“I’m going to go out there now.” He nods his head towards the bedroom. “Whatever you do or don’t do in here, just know that I’m not running, okay? Don’t make this about me. It’s about you getting what _you_ need. And I’ll help you in any way I can, I promise.” 

_You’ve already helped so much,_ Aaron thinks. _Too much._ But his throat is too clogged with emotions right now for him to be able to say anything. So he just nods again, lets Robert kiss him on the cheek, and watches as Robert leaves him alone with his demons. 

His first thought after Robert is gone is that maybe Robert is right. Maybe he can be a safety net, a place for Aaron to land when things inevitably go tit’s up. And that thought…

Well, put it this way: Aaron actually feels a tiny sliver of hope for the first time in a long time. And that is monumental. 

He sits there for a few minutes, just thinking. But he doesn’t even look at the razor again, not until he gets to his feet and places it safely back in the cabinet. And then he puts on his suit and gets ready for the day. 

“You certainly don’t look bad in a suit,” Robert says cheekily from where he’s sitting on the bed as soon as Aaron emerges from the loo, his face etched in relief at seeing Aaron come out, mostly in one piece. 

He doesn’t say anything about what just happened, he doesn’t ask if Aaron did anything to himself, he just tells him he’s fit, gets to his feet, and kisses him deeply like it’s just that simple. 

And maybe it is. 

“Text me about the hearing as soon as you’re out,” Robert says a few minutes later as they’re saying their goodbyes at the front door. 

“There shouldn’t be anything to tell,” Aaron replies. 

Robert just grabs his shoulders, looks him dead in the eye and says, “Aaron, I can’t stress this enough. If you don’t text me after that hearing, I will hunt you down. And you know I’m capable of some good light stalking.”

He is. And at one point in time, that might have bothered Aaron. But not now. Because now it’s a joke, one of a few that they have just for them, and one of the many that he _wants._ And if keeping this, whatever _this_ is, with Robert means that he has to figure out how to like himself, how to _want better,_ then it’s worth a shot. 

_Robert_ is worth a shot. 

And from here on out Aaron is gonna do his best to take it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is when the plot really starts to kick into high gear, starting with three of the four chapters I'm the most excited about. So strap in and hold on tight, my dudes!


	18. The Breaks

_Raped._

That’s what Aaron had said, isn’t it? _I was raped._ Just because the revelation hadn’t necessarily surprised Robert, that doesn’t mean it hadn’t cut him to the core. 

It doesn’t mean the words don’t still _burn._

He’d done his best to keep it together for Aaron, providing a strong post on which to lean because it was obvious Aaron was worried about his court hearing. But all Robert had wanted to do was break down, pull himself into a ball and cry his bloody eyes out because Aaron was _raped._ Twelve-year-old Aaron was raped, and Robert wasn’t there to protect him. 

_Never again_ , he thinks as he sits on his sofa and stares at a pitch black television screen. Aaron will never be alone again if he has anything to say about it. 

He’s been here all evening, immobile, waiting for Aaron to call or text to tell him that the hearing went well, that he’s _free._ But as the hours pass by, Robert’s own paranoia begins to get the better of him, fear mixed with anger becoming all out _rage_ as he thinks about the only thing his mind will seemingly allow. 

_Aaron was raped._

He’s never wanted to murder someone before tonight. It’s a strange sensation, the desire to hunt someone down and end their life. But that’s the most powerful urge Robert can feel right now, his blood boiling at the thought of this random football coach and what it would feel like to have _his_ blood caked on Robert’s hands. 

He wants it more than he’s comfortable admitting even to himself. A slow, painful death, pulled centimeter by centimeter from this man’s body for daring to lay his hands on Aaron. For daring to take away the innocence that should never have been Aaron’s to lose. 

He thinks of the scars on Aaron’s body, the look on his face when he realized Robert noticed the razor just today, and all he wants is to bathe in death. 

Needless to say, his reaction is both remarkable and terrifying. 

It would help if he knew Aaron was alright _now,_ if he could just get a simple text assuring him that Aaron wasn’t pulled from the docks and shoved into some cell. But even that bit of comfort has been denied him and so all he can think is the worst. And then something even worse than that. 

_He won’t survive._ If Aaron does go to prison, Robert is almost certain that Aaron won’t survive the ordeal. And so even though Robert has never been a praying man, he prays now for Aaron to be returned safely to his arms. 

It’s late when the buzzer finally goes, putting him out of his misery. He’s still just sitting on the sofa, staring off into space, lost in his own head when the sweetest sound he’s ever heard fills his flat. 

He never thought he’d like the shrill buzzing of his intercom system, but right now, it’s the best music he could ever imagine. 

“Aaron, is that you?” he asks breathlessly as soon as he’s bolted across the room, his finger hurting from how hard he’s pressing the button, his ears aching to hear Aaron’s voice. 

“It’s me,” Aaron’s voice comes back, and _that_ is truly the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He could listen to Aaron read from an encyclopedia and never get bored of the sound of his _voice._

“Get your arse up here now,” Robert orders before pushing the button to let Aaron in. And he’s so impatient to see him that he only waits a few seconds in his flat before he runs out the door to meet him at the lift. 

He’s tapping his foot restlessly when the doors finally open, wringing his hands together when he finally claps eyes on Aaron again, his suit disheveled, his tie pulled loose, but otherwise exactly the same as when he left Robert’s flat earlier in the day. 

He reaches out and grabs Aaron’s tie, tugging him out of the lift and straight into Robert’s arms. And the surprised _oomph_ that escapes Aaron’s lungs when they finally collide makes Robert want to buy out all the super glue in the country and use it to permanently fuse their bodies together. 

His nose is buried in the crook of Aaron’s neck a second later, his lungs just breathing him in as Aaron laughs and says, “I’m not shagging you in the hallway, Robert.” 

“That’s not,” Robert mumbles against Aaron’s skin. “I just wanted to smell you.” 

Aaron laughs again, the sound tickling up Robert’s spine when he asks, “Smell me?” 

“Yeah, you smell,” he takes in another deep breath, “like you. You still smell just like you.” 

Aaron tightens his arms a little at Robert’s strange declaration, his voice soothing now, low and sweet like honey when he reminds Robert, “I’ve only been gone a few hours, not a few months.” 

He breathes again, pulling in the scent of Robert’s own body wash mixed with the unique musk of Aaron’s skin and sighs. “It felt like longer.” 

It felt like _ages._

“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” Aaron says, rubbing a hand firmly up and down Robert’s spine in a way that’s so calming he’s glad he’s got Aaron to hold him up right now else he’d be in a puddle on the floor. “Cal wanted to take me out for a family celebration and I couldn’t get away long enough to send even one text.” 

“It’s okay,” Robert says, even though it isn’t. Even though he was literally scared near death in there, waiting for the worst. But Aaron is here now, he can feel his heartbeat echoing in his own chest. So everything else simply doesn’t matter. 

“Speaking of family, though,” Aaron says, his voice nervous now in a way that makes Robert hold him that much tighter. “I should probably… probably get back to them.” 

“Oh no,” Robert replies forcefully. “You’re not going anywhere until we celebrate your freedom together.” 

“It wasn’t even a real charge,” Aaron groans even though just last night he was afraid they’d lock him up for good. 

It’s why Robert pulls back so he can look Aaron in the eye when he says, “It felt real to me,” because he needs Aaron to know how much he cared. How much he _cares._

Aaron studies his face for a few long moments, trailing his eyes up and down in a way that makes Robert feel more naked than he’s ever felt before. His voice rough when he finally says, “Well, I could do with getting out of this suit.” 

Robert smiles, all cat that got the cream, and replies proudly, “It would be my honour to help.” 

~*~

The weight of Aaron’s body is pleasantly heavy as he moves inside of Robert, his wrists crossed and pinned above his head by one of Aaron’s hands while the other strokes him so slowly he’s sure he’s going mad from it. 

Every third thrust Aaron hits his prostate dead on, the pattern clearly intentional as Aaron continues to tease his orgasm out of him agonisingly slow. But as much as the pressure building inside of him feels like it’s going to kill him when it finally bursts, Robert will take this over anything else right now. 

There was a time when all Aaron wanted was fast, was _hard._ There was a time when Robert was clearly just another body, a place to find release. But these days, Aaron toys with him, Aaron smiles as he plays with him like a cat batting around a mouse. And it’s the most amazing feeling in the world, to have Aaron drag him close to the edge only to pull him back at the last second, just to do it all over again. 

“If you’re trying to… trying to kill me, you’re doing a bang up job,” Robert pants, his body covered in sweat that Aaron licks from his neck, his shoulder, from anywhere he can reach. 

“Don’t really fancy shagging dead bodies,” Aaron says before biting Robert’s collarbone hard. “But I might make an exception for you.” 

A surprised echo of laughter bursts from Robert’s throat, one that turns quickly into a fit of giggles as Robert says, “I never knew you were a necrophiliac.” 

Aaron bites him again, this time on his nipple, and all Robert can do in response to that is groan. 

“Can I please have my hands back?” he asks, because even though Aaron’s grip is easily one he could break free from if he’d like, he still wants Aaron’s permission to do so. 

“No,” Aaron says all huskily, sending goosebumps over Robert’s skin. “Not until I’m finished with you.”

Robert hauls himself upward as best he can with his arms still pinned, nipping once at Aaron’s bottom lip before saying, “Get on with it then.” 

Aaron smiles, a sort of deep, wicked grin that’s only started making itself known in recent weeks. And Robert immediately feels the uptick in speed on his cock. 

Aaron takes him harder from then on out, hitting Robert’s prostate on every single thrust as he strokes Robert off in time to his movements. And Robert is so overwhelmed by it all that he can’t help his insane babblings when he says, “Aaron, I lo-... I lo-...” 

Aaron kisses him, keeping him from completing the declaration. And part of Robert is grateful for that. Not because he doesn’t feel it. He _does,_ he completely does. But this is neither the time nor the place to tell someone that. 

So he kisses Aaron back, moans into Aaron’s mouth as Aaron sucks on his tongue, and waits for the white light to take him away. 

~*~

They’re lying in bed a while later, completely shagged out, resting in what’s become their standard post-sex position - Robert flat on his back with Aaron using his chest as a pillow. 

Robert likes this position. He likes the feel of Aaron hard and solid at his side, likes the way Aaron’s arm inevitably finds its way possessively around Robert’s waist. 

He loves being able to bury his nose in Aaron’s hair, smell the remnants of hair gel that’s all been disbursed by Robert’s fingers gripping and carding during sex. Loves the knowledge that Aaron can hear every hitch in his heartbeat whenever he swipes a thumb over Robert’s hip. 

He can still feel Aaron inside him, the dull ache and welcome stretch that comes after a really good shag. And his whole body is still alight from his orgasm, pulled from deep within him on a sharp cry that he can still hear echoing between his ears. 

But for some strange reason here, now, all of that just makes the terror of earlier flood back to his system with a vengeance. 

Aaron is not safe. Meg was right, this job of his, this _life,_ it’s _not safe._ Today it’s a court hearing, but what will it be tomorrow? A shootout in some back alley? A rival gang trying to prove a point? Robert’s never really thought of any of this before, lost as he was in all things singularly Aaron, but since his arrest it’s been eating at the back of his brain, waiting for its time to pounce. 

Apparently, now is that time. 

“Do you carry a weapon?” Robert asks seemingly out of the clear blue as he traces random shapes into Aaron’s still sweat-slick back. 

The randomness is why it’s not surprising when Aaron jokes sleepily, “If this is some kinda kink of yours, I have to say I’m not really all that comfortable with it.” 

Robert swallows hard before admitting, “It’s not a kink, it’s a _concerned for your safety_ sort of thing.” 

Aaron shuffles on top of him, slinging one leg over Robert’s body so he can rest his chin in the center of Robert’s chest, look him in the eyes before he says, bluntly, “I carry a knife at all times.” 

“So what, do you just throw it at people?” Robert asks because Aaron’s answer was not a particularly satisfying one. 

Aaron rolls his eyes, still not entirely getting the gravity of this moment when he replies, “I’m not a ninja, Robert. It’s for close quarters.” 

“So what if someone has a gun?” 

“Where is this coming from?” Aaron asks, his eyes scrunching up in concern as he moves higher up Robert’s body, closer to his face. 

“Your arrest,” he says with a shrug because it’s as close as he can get to a proper answer. “Ever since then I just… I guess I didn’t realize how risky your job is, that’s all. So none of you carry guns? Because that seems impossible to me, that gangsters or whatever you call yourselves don’t actually carry guns.”

“Well, Liam and Sean do,” Aaron concedes. “And Cal and all them. Most of the lads, actually.”

“But you don’t?” 

Aaron shrugs. “I guess I’m not as big of a fan as them.” 

“Is there anything I could do to make you a fan?” Robert asks, and normally, a comment like that would be accompanied by a smirk and a raised eyebrow, sexual innuendo being his best language. But now he just sounds scared, he can hear it in the tremor in his voice. 

Which is why Aaron is completely serious when he asks, “You really care that much?” 

“I care about your safety,” he elaborates, wrapping his arms tighter around Aaron, pinning them together in a way he hopes indicates how much he never wants to let him go. 

“You do know they’re illegal, right?” 

Robert lets Aaron go but only so he can wrap his hands over Aaron’s face when he says, “I’d rather have you in jail than dead. At least there I can visit you.” 

He pauses for a minute, swallows hard before adding, “I don’t like the idea of you going some place where I can’t follow.” 

Aaron nods at him at that, an assessing sort of nod before he leans up to kiss Robert once on the lips, softly but _confidently,_ and says, “I’ll think about it.” 

Robert nods back knowing, as he does, by the sound of Aaron’s voice that it’s the best he’s going to offer right now. And hopefully, it’ll be enough. 

~*~

He misses Aaron. It’s only been two days. Scratch that. It’s only been one day, thirteen hours, and twenty minutes, give or take a few minutes. But he already misses him. 

If he didn’t know a hundred percent what Aaron’s answer would be - a resounding _no_ \- Robert might consider asking him to move in with him, _that’s_ how much he misses having him around all the time. 

But as it stands right now, he’s simply staring down another night without Aaron beside him because Aaron has to _work_ and because Cal is _riding him hard._ And yes, Robert had been bothered by that choice of words, but Robert is apparently an _idiot_ for being annoyed and so now Robert is just missing him like a prat. 

It’s why he gets irrationally excited, all Pavlov’s dog, when he hears the buzzer go off while he’s about to sit down to his pathetic tea for one. 

“Aaron?” he asks breathlessly, but all he gets back is Clive’s voice saying a confused, “Who’s Aaron?” 

“What do you want, Clive?” he groans as he presses his forehead to the wall above the buzzer. 

“What do you think I want? A song and dance number. I want you to let me up, you twat. It’s freezing out here.” 

Robert’s mind cycles through at least a dozen possible excuses for why he can’t let Clive up before realizing that he has to. Clive’s his best mate, after all. And it’s not like Robert has been a very good one lately. 

He hits the buzzer without another word said, leaving the door open a crack before returning to the kitchen table to eat. Which is right where Clive finds him once he enters the flat. 

“So who’s this Erin woman?” he asks as he sits down across from Robert and swipes a few chips from his plate. 

“She’s no one,” he replies glumly because he doesn’t have the energy to correct Clive right now, much less share with him all that’s been going on in his life. “Why are you here?” 

“Oh, right,” Clive says, shoving one final chip in his mouth before fixing his suit jacket, sitting up straight, and saying, “I’ve come to give you an intervention.” 

Robert snorts, because that’s rich, coming from Clive. 

“Don’t interventions usually involve more than two people?” Robert asks as he shovels more of his reheated beef stew into his mouth. 

“Well, seeing as how Chrissie won all of your friends in the divorce, this was the best I could come up with at short notice.” 

“Charming,” Robert says drolly before biting down on a lukewarm chip. 

Clive takes a moment to resituate himself, his forearms resting on the table so he can lean over all seriously and caringly before he says, “You’ve been acting weird lately, Sugden. And I’m worried about you.” 

“No you’re not,” Robert counters. “You just think I’m on drugs and you want to know if you can have some.” 

“Well, I never!” Clive gasps, but the airs he’s putting on are too fake for them to be anything but. 

“I really don’t think you’re doing this right,” Robert supplies in response. “This whole intervention thing. How about we just go out and get drunk instead?” 

Clive tips his head a little like he’s considering it before shrugging, pinching another chip, and saying, “Sure, why not. Drunk it is!” 

And so ends Robert’s first ever intervention. 

~*~

He’s not completely hammered when he comes home, but he is drunk enough that he doesn’t realize what’s wrong at first. Doesn’t pick up on the fact that there’s a lamp on in his sitting room, one he never leaves on when he’s gone, and that there’s a person sitting on his sofa. A person he’s never seen before in his life. 

“Who the hell are you?” he asks shakily as he reaches for his mobile. “I’m calling the police.” 

“There’s no need for that, Robert,” the man says calmly, like the threat of the police means nothing to him. “You see, I think you and I have someone in common.” 

He tosses something at Robert, a balled up hoodie. _Aaron’s_ balled up hoodie, or the one Aaron had let him wear to the concert that might as well belong to Robert now for how unwilling he’s been to give it back. 

“You’re Cal,” Robert says, his fingers twisting in the fabric of the hoodie as Cal reaches one finger up to touch the tip of his nose. “How did you get in here?” 

“I’m sorry to say this, Robert, but I think you’ve been living under the false belief that your home is a safe place. Nobody’s is, if someone has enough determination to get in.” 

“So you broke in?” Robert asks, already tired of this conversation. Of this… this _person_ that’s so important to Aaron he’s willing to risk his life for him. 

Cal shrugs. “I like to think of it as I _let_ myself in. See, when I want something, Robert, I usually get it.”

“And let me guess, you _want_ Aaron.” 

Cal laughs at that, a sharp bark that scratches up Robert’s spine before he says, “It’s funny, that. You thinking that I don’t already have him.” 

“It’s funny, that,” Robert counters, the anger starting to boil his blood. “You thinking that Aaron is some sort of commodity that you can have.” 

Instead of getting to his feet, angry and intimidating like Robert is expecting, Cal just leans back into the cushions, spreading his arms over top of the sofa and tipping his head leisurely at Robert. Which is almost worse, judging by the way it causes Robert’s heart to kick up a notch. 

“You know, when he started coming ‘round here, I thought you were just some harmless fuck. I mean, I’ve known that Aaron was gay for a long while now. But he’s never had someone he’s been willing to truly _lie_ for.” Cal bites his lip and shakes his head. “Not before you.” 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Robert sneers, unwilling to show any of the fear that’s been cycling through his system ever since he walked through the door. 

“You go right ahead and take it how you want. I’m just here to let you know where things stand.” 

“And what are you? His nurse maid?” 

Cal smiles at him, a thin, wicked sort of thing that makes him look every bit as dangerous as Robert has always feared he was. 

“I killed his father,” Cal replies, and it’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over Robert’s head. His body already shaking slightly from it before Cal adds, “You think I couldn’t kill you?” 

Robert can’t swallow. Robert can hardly _breathe_ as he stares at Cal and waits for him to continue a conversation that’s slipping away from Robert fast. 

“When something matters to me,” Cal adds as he gets to his feet, straightening out his jacket before moving slowly towards Robert like a predator in the grass. “I lie, I cheat, I _kill,_ I do whatever it takes. And Aaron matters to me.” 

“Yeah, well, he… he matters to me, too,” Robert manages to sputter out in spite of the fact that the head of the biggest crime family in the city just threatened to _murder him._

“Not like this,” Cal replies definitively. “You couldn’t possibly understand who Aaron is, what Aaron _needs._ You’re just some posh prat who wanted to slum it a little bit and fuck a drug dealer. What could you possibly have to offer him?” 

_Everything,_ Robert thinks. _I’d give him everything._ But for some reason, he can’t get the words out of his mouth. 

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Cal says, beating Robert to the punch as he finishes his walk toward Robert, reaching out to straighten the collar of Robert’s shirt as he speaks. “You’re going to break it off with Aaron. You’re going to _end_ this whole charade. And then Aaron is going to come back into the fold and do something good with his life.” 

Robert can’t help the way he snorts at that, probably a bad reaction to have in front of a man like Cal, but Cal’s version of reality is so inherently ridiculous that he just can’t take it. 

“No, here’s what’s going to happen,” Robert counters. “You’re going to leave me and Aaron alone, or I’m going to tell the police you murdered his father.”

Cal studies him for a second, a foolish second in which Robert thinks he might have won something here before Cal leans into his personal space and practically whispers, “You really think I left a body behind? It’s been almost a decade, Robert. There’s nothing for the police to even find at this point. And there won’t be anything to find of you if you don’t do exactly as I tell you.” 

He swallows hard, tries to weigh out if the second time his life’s been threatened is better or worse than the first, deciding eventually that they’re both awful. Only Robert must be some kind of thick idiot, because instead of just saying, “Yes, Sir,” and walking away, he keeps pushing. 

Maybe he’ll push for Aaron all the way to the bloody grave. 

“I’ll pay you,” he says, his strength waning but his determination still holding him up. 

Cal leans back, thankfully, and looks him up and down, assessing him before saying, “Pay me for what?” 

“For Aaron. That’s what happens with gangs, isn’t it? They only let people go if they buy out? I’ll buy him out. Whatever the cost.” 

Cal smiles again at him, a different one this time, one that’s almost intrigued. And so Robert is once again fooled into thinking he’s gotten somewhere before Cal says, “Let me make this perfectly clear. Even if I were willing to let Aaron go for money - which, _to be clear,_ I’m not - you wouldn’t have enough to cover the cost. 

“That lad is _mine._ I pulled him out of the gutter. I _made_ him. No one is taking him away from me, got that? If you push me, there’s only one way this ends, Robert. Don’t make me tell you a third time.” 

He slaps Robert’s cheek lightly at that, grabbing his collar again and yanking him in hard, so close that Robert can feel Cal’s breath on his face when he says, “Since I’m not a monster, I’ll give you until the end of the week to break things off. And don’t even try and keep seeing him on the sly. I caught you easily the first time, and I will do it again. Understand?”

Cal doesn’t wait for Robert to respond, he just lets him go and heads for the door before turning around to say, “And if you even think about telling Aaron any of this, I’ll only deny it. I know my boy, and he trusts me implicitly. Just do the right thing, Robert, and no one will get hurt.” 

_Except Aaron,_ he thinks as the sound of the door opening and shutting reaches Robert’s stunned senses. Regardless of how this plays out, Aaron _gets hurt._ And Robert doesn’t have very long to figure out the best way to handle that. 

~*~

The fear gnaws at him, chewing on his very bones as he lies in bed with the light on, afraid as he is of the shadows surrounding him. 

Cal killed Aaron’s father, but why? Was he standing between him and Aaron? Was he a threat the same way Cal views him to be? What could he have possibly done to deserve being murdered in cold blood, and is Robert himself going to meet the same fate? 

These are all the questions circling through his head as he stares up at his ceiling and tries not to imagine what he’d look like if Cal got his hands on him. 

No body to be found, he said. Robert would have to be cut into some small pieces for that to work. 

He thinks of Vic, probably the only one that would even notice he’s gone. How long would she look for him? How long would she dig until she found out the truth? Days? Weeks? Years? 

He can’t do that to her. He can’t let his stubbornness leave her alone without him. But is that it? Is that why he’s holding on? Because he’s stubborn? Or is it more? 

He hasn’t said it, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get the words past his lips, but he _loves_ Aaron. He’s sure of it. He’s never felt this way about someone in his entire life, and he can’t just give that up without a fight. But what kind of fight does he have here? 

Cal will kill him, Robert has no doubt about that, but so what does he do? What _can_ he do? 

Apparently, what he _can’t_ do is sleep, the alcohol leaching out of his system as he sweats in his sheets, still just staring, missing Aaron’s weight at his side so terribly he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. And then it all just hits him, forcing him to curl into that ball he’s always threatening and cry like he’s a child again. Like his mother is dead and his life feels over, _all over again._

He calls in sick to work, refusing to admit it’s because he’s afraid to step outside, afraid of what awaits him there. But once he’s truly alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company, he’s at a loss for what to do. So he turns on _Westworld_ and thinks of Aaron, watching the show for the first time, reluctantly getting sucked in until he liked it even more than Robert. 

The wonder in his eyes…

The smile on his face…

The goodness in his heart…

How in the hell is Robert supposed to give that up? 

Sometime after lunch, his buzzer sounds. And Robert finds himself hoping it’s Clive because anyone else…

No one is safe right now, are they? 

“Hello?” he asks shakily once it buzzes six times without any indication of stopping. 

“Robert, it’s me,” Meg’s voice comes back. “I stopped by your office but they said you were at home. I’m on my lunch break and we need to talk. Let me up.” 

Meg is on their side, isn’t she? Her father wouldn’t send her as an assassin. There’s _no reason_ to fear her presence right now, and yet here Robert is, shaking at the sound of a MacFarlane’s voice like it’s last night all over again. 

“Robert?” she asks, startling him out of his thoughts and reminding him that he’s still pressing the intercom button. “Is everything alright?” 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn't trust himself to sound stable, so he just buzzes her in and waits until he sees her face-to-face. 

“You know, you really should wait until someone invites you in before barging through their door,” Robert says as Meg quite literally _barges through his door._ When she turns to look at him, though, it’s as if she hasn’t even heard what he said. 

“I have to get back to work soon, Robert,” she says quickly. “I don’t have much time and it’s important.” 

“What is?” he asks, even though he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to know. 

Meg stares up at him, her eyes huge and pleading as she says, “My dad is taking Aaron to Ireland.” 

That… doesn’t seem as scary as she’s making it out to be.

“What, on a vacation?” he asks because what’s he missing here? Something big, obviously. 

“No, not on a vacation,” she snips at him. “They’re going to some big meeting with the Irish.” 

Robert rolls that around in his head for a moment before he asks, “The Irish what?” 

“Jesus, Robert,” she says with a gentle shove to his chest. “Do you have any idea what Aaron does for a living?” 

“Not really, no,” he says honestly. 

“So what does he tell you when you ask?” 

“I don’t ask.” 

She barks out a laugh. “Why not?!” 

Robert crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Because he’s an adult, and it’s none of my business. If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.” 

She laughs at him again, this time in earnest, but her expression is anything but amused when she says, “You really don’t know him at all, do you? If he wants you to know he’ll tell you? When has that ever happened?” 

He thinks of the rape suddenly, of the football coach, of Aaron’s honesty on the loo floor, and he almost throws that back in her face. But then he remembers his promise to Aaron, that it wouldn’t go any further than him. So if Meg doesn’t know, she won’t learn it from Robert. 

“So what’s the big deal about Ireland?” he asks instead, because they might as well stay on topic as best they can. 

“These kinds of meetings with the Irish, as in the _Irish mob_ , they’re _huge,_ alright? Like, mega huge. Dad’s only ever brought his most trusted advisors with him, the guys he’s been working with since he was a kid.”

“So he’s never taken Aaron?” Robert asks as a chill begins to trail down his spine. 

“He’s never taken _any_ of my brothers. Spending proper time with the heads of the mob… Robert, this is _bad._ This is my dad trying to pull Aaron in deeper. Something’s changed, moved up the time table, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do about it.” 

_I’ve changed things,_ he thinks. He’s the one that’s moved up this hypothetical time table. Not only does Cal want Robert out of Aaron’s life, but he wants Aaron deeper in his own. And it’s _all Robert’s fault._

He considers telling Meg that, opening his mouth and letting what happened last night just spill out of him. But then she says, “I love my dad, I do,” and Robert is grateful that she’s so tied up inside her head that she doesn’t see him flinch. 

“But he’s got this hold over Aaron and it’s… it’s killing him.” 

She looks to Robert at that, all big-eyed again. And Robert is helpless to ask anything apart from, “What do you want me to do?” 

She moves closer to him at that, the motion so reminiscent of her father last night that it makes his whole body lock down in fear as she grabs his elbows and says, “You know what I want you to do.” 

He does. He knows _exactly_ what she wants him to do. The question is: Can Robert do it? 

~*~

The flames lick his body, peeling back layers of skin like tissue paper. In front of him is the old barn; behind him is nothing but darkness. But the screams that pierce the night aren’t his mother’s like usual. They’re different, deeper, calling to Robert like a siren song. 

Every time he tries to break into the building, though, he’s pushed back by some imaginary force. And it’s Aaron in there - he knows it’s him - but if this dream has taught him anything it’s that he’ll never get to him. 

They never even had a chance. 

That doesn’t mean Robert is going to stop trying. He’ll beat at this old, broken wood for the rest of his life if he has to, as long as he can still hear Aaron’s voice. His own voice hoarse from calling out his name, yelling, “Aaron, I’m coming,” over and over again until his vocal cords simply give out entirely. 

He’ll keep fighting, though. He’ll always keep fighting. 

~*~

He wakes up to the smell of smoke still in his nose and someone’s hands on him, shaking him roughly. The panic so furious that he shoots up from where he’s been lying and almost rockets to his feet. 

The first thing he notices is the sofa, a pillow where his head had been and a blanket, twisted into knots and still half pooled around his ankles. Then he notices the owner of the hands and breathes a sigh of relief because it’s only Aaron. 

He couldn’t stand any more surprises right now. 

“How did you get in here?” Robert asks as he rakes his hand through his hair over and over again, trying to get the feel of ash off his fingers. 

The concern on Aaron’s face is all-encompassing when he replies, “Your neighbour let me in downstairs, you know the old lady? The one that always calls me a _nice looking young man_?”

Robert nods because he knows on a base level that it’s the polite thing to do, not because he’s actually following anything Aaron is saying. His voice somehow _more_ hoarse than it was a second ago when he asks, “How’d you get in here then?” 

Aaron looks bashful, a strange expression on his face that Robert isn’t sure he’s allowed to like, given the situation. 

“I… well… I sorta had to… you know… break in,” he says, following that up immediately with a hasty, “I’m sorry. I was knocking for ages and I was worried something was really wrong. I know I shouldn’t’ve, but… but I didn’t know if you were okay or not.” 

“You know how to break into places?” Robert asks, which judging by the pinched look on his face, it was not what Aaron was expecting him to say at all. 

“Well, yeah. Cal taught me when I was a kid.” 

Robert flinches again at the mention of Cal, and Aaron is on his feet in a heartbeat, reaching out to feel for a fever of all things as he asks, “What’s the matter? Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Robert lies, trying to step away from Aaron’s caring hands. 

But that just makes Aaron hold onto him that much tighter, his hands now wrapping over the sides of Robert’s neck as he says, “Don’t lie to me,” in this voice that’s so soft it makes Robert ache. 

“You were having a nightmare, weren’t you?” he continues a moment later, ducking his head to get a better look at the expression Robert is trying desperately to hide. “What was it about?” 

His head snaps up at that, frustration spiking through his blood all of a sudden as he asks in a tone far too unkind for the way Aaron’s been treating him, “What are your nightmares about?” 

Aaron is quite literally taken aback by Robert’s question - he takes two steps _back_ from him. His whole body choreographing _scared rabbit_ as he says, “I’m sorry I came,” and tries to leave. 

Robert grabs him, though, before he can get beyond arm’s reach. His tone the proper level of concerned and loving now as he says, “No, I’m the one that’s sorry. Come here.” 

He turns Aaron around and pulls him into his arms, feels the way Aaron’s rigid stance slowly melts, his arms rising eventually to grip at the back of Robert’s sweat-damp shirt. 

“I’m so sorry, Aaron. I just had a rough day, that’s all. And I missed you,” he says, all of which is one hundred percent true. 

Aaron tightens his grip. “I missed you, too.” And suddenly, blindingly, Robert knows the answer to every question that’s posed itself in the last twenty-four hours. 

The answer is _Aaron._ It will always be Aaron. 

Which is why the next words out of his mouth are, “I want you to run away with me.” 

Robert can pinpoint the exact moment where Aaron stops thinking Robert is joking and starts to realize he’s serious. His body stiffens again, _like a corpse,_ Robert’s mind unhelpfully supplies. And with the dream still fresh in his mind, Robert meets Aaron’s struggles against him with a furious hold that won’t be easily shaken off. 

Aaron does push him off eventually, his eyes wild as he asks, “What are you talking about?” And if there ever was a time to be completely honest, now is it. 

Robert either jumps, or he watches Aaron fall away. 

“It’s not safe for you here,” he starts, because that’s the most basic fact in all of this. Aaron’s life is not _safe,_ and if Robert wants to see him with grey hair and crows feet, then he’s going to have to make a move now. 

“Is this about the arrest still?” Aaron asks, still confused but slightly less so as he seemingly finds a “reasonable” reason for why Robert just asked him to run away with him. 

“Because that’s like a right of passage in my family.” 

Robert shakes his head. “It’s not about the arrest, Aaron.”

“The gun then? Because if you really want me to, I’ll carry one. It’s not that big of a deal if-”

“Cal threatened me,” Robert interrupts, unwilling to let Aaron keep going down the wrong street. But all he’s met with is dead silence. 

He lets the quiet surround them, lets it seep into their bones as Aaron just stares back at him, his face frozen in confusion. 

“You what?” he asks once he’s found his voice again. 

“Cal. Your… your _Cal_ was here last night. And he told me if I didn’t break up with you, he would kill me.”

Aaron laughs, but it’s a wary one, something that’s etched all over his face when he asks, “What are you even talking about? He wouldn’t do that.” 

“He did, Aaron,” Robert almost begs. “I swear it to you. Why would I lie?” 

“I don’t know, but you just… you must’ve misunderstood him is all.” 

“Aaron,” Robert says, trying to put a little more force behind his words. “He literally said that he would kill me if I didn’t back off. Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it?” 

“I don’t know, but… but… but…”

Robert grabs Aaron’s shoulders, forcing his voice to die on yet another _but,_ and says, “He’s not the man you think he is, Aaron. He… I’m sorry, but he also told me that he killed your father.” 

Aaron’s eyes go suddenly cold in a way Robert has never seen before and never wants to see again as he growls out the words, “That was different.” 

To say that Robert is surprised by Aaron’s words would be a vast understatement. 

“What, you… you knew?” he asks shakily. But instead of answering him, Aaron just pulls away again. 

“I should go,” he says, still so coldly, but there’s no way Robert is letting him leave it there. 

So he bolts after him, catching him before he reaches the door and spinning him around before saying, “No, you’re not leaving until you explain this to me,” because Robert might not be able to claim ownership to all aspects of Aaron’s past, present, and future, but this is one part he deserves to know. 

“You knew he killed your dad and you were, what? You were okay with it?” Robert asks when Aaron continues to do nothing but stare back at him, defiantly mute. 

“Just let me go,” Aaron hisses, shoving Robert back a few steps. 

But Robert just surges forward again, shoving Aaron so that his back bounces off the door as he says, “No, Aaron. I want an explanation.” 

“You want an explanation?! Fine. Yes, I knew. Because I was there.” 

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that overtakes them this time, the room sucked clean of sound like a vacuum as the pair of them stare at each other like they’re on opposite sides of a battle line, somewhere Robert never wanted to be. 

“He made you watch him kill your father?” Robert says eventually, his voice quieter for the silence. 

Aaron’s voice is louder, though, _angrier_ when he replies, “No, he _let_ me watch him kill the bastard that _raped_ me!” 

Robert is… confused. So confused it’s actually painful as he sputters out, “But I thought… you said…”

“I lied, alright? It wasn’t a football coach, it was _him._ And it wasn’t just once, it was… _fuck_ it was _so many times._ So him killing my… him killing _Gordon_ has got nothing to do with him supposedly threatening you.” 

There are tears in Aaron’s eyes now, ones that are mirrored in Robert’s when he asks weakly, “Supposedly? So you don’t believe me?” 

Aaron throws his hands in the air in frustration, his body bearing the movement of the caged animal that Robert hasn’t seen in months.

“I don’t know what to believe,” he says. “You just sorta sprung this all on me.”

“Oh, and it wasn’t sprung on me?” Robert bites back, the fight returning to his voice as he outright refuses to let Aaron sweep this under the rug. 

“Because I just love coming home to random mob leaders sitting on my sofa like they own the place.”

“He was probably just trying to scare you off,” Aaron says bloody flippantly, and he’s doing it, isn’t he? He’s really just sweeping this all away like it’s nothing so he can go home to his precious fake father and be the perfect son he never got to be with his pervert of a dad. 

“Well the scare part was successful at least,” Robert says bitterly. “Aaron, that man is dangerous.”

Something flashes in Aaron’s eyes at that, something that tells Robert that he’s hit paydirt, that Aaron is actually _thinking_ about what he said. Which is why he’s hopeful when Aaron opens his mouth again, only to crash back down to earth when he says, “You’re right. He is dangerous. I think… I think we need to end this.” 

“Excuse me?” Robert asks incredulously. 

Aaron looks at a space a few feet over his head, unwilling to meet his eyes when he says, “This is just getting to be too much, Robert. I can’t do it anymore. It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” 

He tries to leave again, but instead of stopping him with his hands, Robert stops him with his words, the pleading evident now as he says, “But it is like this, Aaron,” because it _is._ They mean something to each other. He _knows_ it. 

“No it’s not!” Aaron shouts, rounding on Robert with a mix of sorrow and fury in his eyes. “It’s _nothing,_ you hear me? It was always nothing.” 

He reaches the doorknob this time before Robert just says _to hell with it_ and lays it all out for Aaron. 

“I love you!” 

Aaron freezes, but he still doesn’t turn around. 

“I love you, Aaron, and I can’t just let you walk away like this.” 

The tears have fallen to Aaron’s face when he finally turns around, his voice a complete and utter wreck when he says, “Don’t say that,” like if maybe Robert can just take back the words, Aaron can pretend he never heard them in the first place. 

“What, that I love you?” Robert says, unwilling as he is to give Aaron the easy way out here. “Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s the truth.” 

“No it’s not!” Aaron shouts in a way that’s so childlike it makes every part of Robert’s body hurt. 

Makes his emotions fly out of his mouth like daggers when he says, “Yes it is! I love you and… and I’m terrified that if you walk out that door right now, you’ll never come back.” 

Robert is expecting silence, either that or outright anger. But what he gets is something else entirely. 

It’s pain. Raw, naked, ugly _pain_ lacing Aaron’s voice when he says, “I’m scared, too. Scared that if I stay, I’ll be signing your death warrant.”

“Then let's go,” Robert says without a second thought, sweeping in to grab Aaron’s biceps, pin him in place. “Leave this all behind.” 

Aaron lets his head fall, causing Robert’s heart to sink long before he says, “I can’t leave. He won’t let me.” 

“You’re acting like you’re in a bloody cult,” Robert says, shaking Aaron’s body once as if that will wake him up. 

“They’re my _family._ ” 

“No,” Robert says adamantly. “Your family lives in Emmerdale.”

Aaron shakes off Robert’s grip. “Yeah? And what have they ever done for me? When I was sleeping rough, near death, who found me? Who picked me up? Who took me in?” 

“I know they weren’t there for you then, Aaron, and maybe they don’t deserve to be there now. But don’t I deserve something? Don’t I deserve _you_?” 

“I don’t need to be saved, Robert!” Aaron lashes out. 

But Robert just fights him with quiet resignation when he says, “Well maybe I do.” 

He stares into Aaron’s eyes, holding his gaze for as long as he can before saying, “Maybe I need to be saved. Before… before I met you, I was a terrible person, Aaron. You don’t even know the half of it. But you… you’ve made me actually like the person I see when I look in the mirror. And if you leave… if you leave me, I’m afraid that I’ll be that man again.” 

Their old friend silence settles in once more, working like a wedge between them. And Robert knows what’s going to happen here, knows that anything he says is only postponing the inevitable moment when Aaron leaves him. But if he doesn’t hold on to some hope, then he might as well just crawl into bed and never get out again. 

“Robert,” Aaron says softly as he runs his hand gently up Robert’s arm. “I wish I could, but I can’t.” 

“Why?” Robert moans as more tears slip down his face. “You don’t get a chance at your own life? Why? Because of some messed up belief that you owe him? For what? Pulling you out of the gutter?” 

Robert pauses just long enough to grab Aaron’s wrists and press their foreheads together. 

“You say you don’t need to be saved, but Aaron, he didn’t save you either. _You_ did. All he did was give you a job, and a rubbish one at that. You got yourself out of that pit. _You._ And you deserve happiness. You don’t… you don’t owe him your life.”

“You don’t understand,” Aaron says as he pushes forward like he wants more of a connection. 

“Maybe not. Maybe I don’t understand this at all. But I understand _you,_ whether you want me to or not. I understand the sacrifices you’d make for the people you love, and I want to give that to you. I _love_ you. Why can’t you just let me?” 

Aaron tips his head down at that, blocking his face from Robert’s gaze. But even though he can’t see him, he can feel the way he’s crying, his body shaking with it as he stands otherwise still and lets the world continue to spin around them. 

When he finally looks up, Robert knows what’s coming. His expression is too blank, his posture too resolute. So he’s not so much shocked as he is _crushed_ when Aaron backs away from him and says, “It’s over.” 

“No,” Robert tries, stubborn to a fault. But when he attempts to reach out for Aaron again, Aaron just shoves his hands roughly away. 

“I said it’s over and it’s _over._ Don’t… don’t contact me again. Don’t come looking for me. Just don’t, okay Robert? Just pretend you never met me.” 

With that, he’s gone, leaving Robert stunned and heartbroken as he stands there, staring at the door, no longer terrified but _certain_ that Aaron won’t be coming back. 


	19. Heavy Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Turquoiseterrier. Thank you for listening to me blather!

His head is filled with voices again, but it’s not like it used to be. Gone for now is his father, telling him he’s worthless, nothing, less than dirt. Here instead is Robert, telling him he loves him, asking him to listen, begging him to stay as the sound of the slamming door rebounds off the inside of his skull. 

Aaron’s not sure which is worse really.

He’s walking right now, his steps aimless the same way everything else is, like someone took his life, chucked it in a blender, and put it on high. It can’t have been more than an hour, hour and a half tops since he left Robert’s flat, but it feels like an eternity as his mind spins with the blades, shredding up everything he mistakenly thought might be his one day if he were good enough. If he held on tight enough. 

He was a fool to ever think he’d get to have something like that, something _good,_ something that was just his. And now there’s a gulf separating him from the only person he could ever see himself loving back. No, an _ocean._ And Aaron is the one who carved out the earth. 

He can’t face anyone yet. Even if he wanted to go home, which he doesn’t, he’s not sure how he’d look Meg in the eye, knowing what he’s done. Or Cal. 

Cal. 

He still can’t wrap his head around that one. It’s not that he thinks Robert is lying, but more that he thinks his own _brain_ is. Because every time he tries to picture it, he gets one of those error messages popping up on the screen telling him to try again. 

Cal told Robert he’d kill him if he didn’t break it off with Aaron. That’s something that happened. But it’s also something that _couldn’t have happened_ because Cal loves him, doesn’t he? Gordon was one thing. Gordon was a _monster._ But what has Robert ever done apart from put up with Aaron’s bullshit when he didn’t have to? 

None of this makes any sense, nothing except for his destination. Because even when he was still living with Gordon, there was always one place he could go when he needed to hide. 

It’s been a while since he’s been here, since he and Robert needed a place to have sex for the sake of the act and nothing else. But he can still feel him everywhere, in every dark corner and broken window, just waiting for him to come back.

He wishes. 

The night of his arrest would’ve been the last time. He was so close when everything fell apart. But out of that had come the best eighteen days of his entire life, and Aaron would take a night in a cell any day for the chance at that. 

He curls up on their couch, chasing a scent he knows won’t be there, but it’s a comfort regardless. The feel of worn leather pressed against his cheek in a way that can only remind him of Robert - Robert’s skin, Robert’s sweat, Robert’s body, wrapped around his like a blanket against the chill. 

He can’t have it, he knows he can’t. But that doesn’t stop him from _wanting it_ as he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander. 

_The sun is trying to press through the cracks in the curtains, but Aaron is too warm to move. He’s in a cocoon, really, arms and legs wrapped around him like an octopus. And he’d laugh at the way Robert seems to envelop him in their sleep if he weren’t such a big fan of it._

_“Are you awake, sleepyhead?” Robert asks, his voice clear like he’s been up for some time now._

_“Have you been perving on me while I sleep again?” Aaron counters, the smile on his own face pressing so hard into his cheeks he feels ridiculous for it._

_“No, but I certainly was perving on you last night.”_

_“You know, when you talk about sex like that,” Aaron says, unable to hide the fondness in his tone, “it makes me not want to have it with you.”_

_“Rubbish!” Robert declares as he flips Aaron over and slides so that he’s resting on top of Aaron now and not the other way around. “You always want to have sex with me. I’m irresistible. People would write poetry about my cock if it weren’t occupied with you all the time.”_

_“Ugh, you’re so gross!” Aaron says on a laugh, shoving Robert off of him and making a move to get off the bed._

_“No, no, no, you’re not going anywhere,” Robert replies as he grabs Aaron’s shoulders and drags him back down to his back. “You’re all mine today, which means you don’t get to leave this bed until I say so.”_

_“And how are you gonna stop me, eh?”_

_“You’re forgetting, Aaron,” Robert says lowly as he leans into Aaron’s personal space, his voice smooth like warm butter. “I know your Achilles heel.”_

_He doesn’t wait for Aaron to taunt him back, he just starts tickling him, pressing his fingers deep into the muscles of Aaron’s stomach, along his neck, up the underside of his biceps - every single place Robert knows Aaron to be ticklish. And judging by the intensity of the assault, Robert isn’t stopping until he gets exactly what he wants._

_Not like Aaron doesn’t wanna give it to him. They don’t have any place to be until this evening, so a morning spent in bed with the man he loves certainly won’t go amiss._

_He still fights back, though. Not with tickling - Robert is freakishly immune. But he does pin Robert to the bed, give himself the upper hand before he leans down to Robert’s face and -_

_“Ew!” Robert shouts. “Did you just try to lick my eyeball?”_

_Aaron pins him more forcefully, hovers above him before threatening, “Maybe. And what are you gonna do about it pretty boy?”_

_One second Robert is laughing, his cheeks red from it as he stares up at Aaron with so much love on his face it should be illegal, and the next his expression is falling, his skin turning pale as something dead oozes into his eyes, turning Aaron’s very blood cold._

_“Wake up,” Robert says, his voice urgent even though his expression still remains lost._

_“What do you mean,” he replies shakily. “I’m already-”_

_“Aaron, wake up!” Robert shouts, his words punctuated by the way the room gets suddenly dark, so dark that Aaron can’t even see Robert anymore even though he can feel his body beneath him._

_Robert’s skin is cold, clammy,_ **_dead,_ ** _but all Aaron can hear is Robert’s voice echoing in his head. The absolute terror coating his words like a thick film as he’d shouted, “Wake up!”_

Aaron wakes up so quickly he almost tumbles off the sofa, and he’s so disoriented that it takes him a full minute at least just to figure out where he is. 

_The warehouse,_ he thinks. He’s in the warehouse. And that’s enough of a cue for the entire night to come tumbling back to him. 

Robert is gone. It was just a dream. A fantasy of the type of life Aaron was never meant to have. And all of that _reality_ washes over him so suddenly that he feels like he’s gonna be sick. 

He doesn’t vomit, but he does spend a lot of time just retching in the corner, his ribs practically snapping from the force as he tries to swallow the tears aching to be released. 

What would be the point of letting them go, though? There’s nothing left to cry over anyway. Robert is gone, and with him the broken dream that Aaron had been stupid enough to believe. 

_Never again,_ he assures himself. 

Never again. 

~*~

When the memories finally become too much to bear, he heads home. His movements zombie-like, his motivation gone, not even caring about the rain that started steadily beating down while he was in the warehouse.

He just doesn’t want to do anything. Even walking is a chore he wishes he could bypass, wanting instead to just sit on the pavement and see how long it takes for him to be soaked through to bone. Or drown, maybe. Just stare up at the rain and wait for there to be enough to breathe it in. 

His feet keep moving, though, because they have to. He has responsibilities. He has a _life._ And he may not be the biggest fan of it right now, but it’s all he’s got. All he’ll ever have. 

Speaking of things he’s not a fan of, the first person he sees when he walks in the front door is Liam. Because life can’t even cut him one flaming crust of a break. 

He tries to walk right by him, doesn’t even let himself look in Liam’s direction. But his movements are frozen completely when Liam opens his gigantic mouth to say, “Who dragged in the wet rat?” 

His back prickles with anger at his choice of words, mostly because he’s still not sure if Liam was responsible for his arrest. Well, that’s a lie. Mostly it’s because he’s only been gone a few hours and he already misses Robert like a severed limb. But regardless of his motivation, Liam’s words are enough to get Aaron’s attention. 

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he growls at Liam, his hands already clenching for the fight he’s willing to instigate for once, if only to feel fists against his skin again. 

He can’t remember the last time he fought Sean, but now it seems like a hundred years gone. 

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Liam asks, his expression clouding with anger of his own. 

“You know exactly what it means. Funny that, me getting arrested n’all, on my route. The one I change up every day and only share with the people that live in this house.” 

“Don’t blame me because you’re incompetent at your job,” Liam bites back, his nostrils flaring as he takes a few steps closer to Aaron and tries to stare him down. A tactic that will never work with Aaron. 

He’s not afraid of him. He’d have to respect him even slightly to be that. 

“I can’t believe dad’s taking you to Ireland. The gutter trash that he dragged in off the street. As if you could ever be a part of this family.” 

The words are meant to rile him, but they just bounce off him like pebbles, making his anger actually _lessen_ because he’s heard Liam say them so many times they’re just boring now. Sleep-inducing. 

The next words out of his mouth, though, do the trick. 

“I can’t believe my sister wants to spend her life with you. Must be dumber than she looks, the gutter whore.” 

Aaron’s fist is smashing into Liam’s face before the words are even fully out of his mouth. A satisfying crack echoing through the entranceway as Aaron hauls back and hits him again. And again. And again. 

Liam hits back. Of course he does. But Aaron is so full of fury right now that Liam never even stood a chance. He’s just lucky Aaron doesn’t break anything (apart from probably his nose) before Meg finally joins them and pulls Aaron off. 

“You piece of shit!” Liam screams from where he’s curled in a ball on the floor, trying to hold the blood inside his nose. 

“You ever say anything like that again and I won’t go so easy on you!” he bites back, kicking Liam once in the side before Meg shoves him out of reach. 

“What is wrong with you?!” she asks, her turn to join in all the yelling. But Aaron really doesn’t feel like explaining why he beat the bloody hell out of Liam, so he makes a sound of disgust and turns to head upstairs. 

“Aaron, wait!” Meg calls after him, but he freezes her at the bottom of the stairs with an ice cold glare. 

“Don’t follow me,” he orders, and for once in Meg’s life, she listens. 

There’s not much visible damage to be concerned about once he makes his way to the upstairs bathroom he’s always shared with Patrick and Sean. His ribs are aching and there’s bound to be a mark from where Liam actually bit his forearm, the infant. But the blood dripping down from the split within his right eyebrow is the only thing of note.

He grabs the closest towel he can reach and presses it tightly to the cut, tipping his head back and refusing to even entertain the idea of stitches because there’s no way Liam Wanker MacFarlane did that much damage to him. He’ll close the cut with a staple gun if he has to rather than let that ponce send him to A&E. 

His head is spinning now that the fight is over, the adrenaline practically making him shake. And he knows he’s gonna get no end of grief for this, that Liam’s gonna be on his case for ages, whinging about how Aaron hurt his poor little face. But it’s not like he could possibly make Liam hate him more than he already does, right? So why should he bother to care? 

It’s just another shite thing in another shite day. 

He closes his eyes for a minute, tries to take deep breaths in the hopes of calming himself down. And it works, for a bit. At least until he looks back in the mirror and sees someone standing next to him. 

_They’re brushing their teeth, him and Robert, their shoulders bumping every few seconds like they’re magnets being constantly pulled to one another._

_“What?” Aaron mumbles through a mouthful of foam._

_Robert just smiles, parroting him with an innocent, “What?” that totally doesn’t match the devious look in his eyes._

_Aaron takes the toothbrush out of his mouth, squints his eyes at Robert and asks, “You’re not gonna, like, spit on the back of my neck when I bend down to rinse this out, are ya?”_

_Robert makes this face like butter wouldn’t melt, all gormless and still so flaming innocent as he removes his toothbrush so he can say, “That you would even think me capable of such a thing hurts, Aaron. It truly_ **_hurts._** _”_

_“Whatever,” Aaron grumbles before bending over to rinse out his mouth, his body tense for every second of it because he still thinks Robert’s gonna do something to him._

_He actually feels relief when he stands up straight again, his mouth and neck both clean. But Aaron only gets a second of warning - a wicked smile and sparkling eyes - before Robert is tossing his toothbrush in the sink and attacking Aaron with minty, sticky kisses._

_“Robert! I just took a shower!” Aaron squeals, actually_ **_squeals_ ** _like a stuck pig._

_That fact doesn’t seem to bother Robert, though, judging by the smug smile on his face when he leans back and says, “I guess we’ll just have to take another one.”_

_“Who said you were invited?” Aaron says grumpily as he wipes at the foam still coating his skin._

_“I believe this did,” Robert says smoothly before reaching down to grab Aaron’s hand, rubbing gently around his finger as Aaron lets his eyes trail down to where they’re currently joined._

_He’s expecting softness, warmth, all of the things that Robert gives him. But when he looks down, he sees that Robert’s hand is black, covered in burnt flesh that Aaron can actually smell now. And all the while Robert is just standing there, staring at Aaron like he’s got no clue what the problem is._

_“Robert,” Aaron says, the word choked by the ash suddenly in his own throat. But it’s not just Robert’s hand now, it’s his arm, his bare shoulder, his neck. The charred skin climbing up the right side of his body before it reaches his face. His beautiful face._

_“Robert, we have to… we need to get help,_ **_you need help_** _,” Aaron pleads, but Robert is still just standing there, oblivious, his hand turning to dust within Aaron’s. And he knows, Aaron_ **_knows_ ** _that the rest is just gonna follow. That soon Robert will be nothing but a pile of ash at his feet, and he can’t-_

There’s a knock on the door, one then two then three reaching his ears before Aaron is able to come back to the present. His breath ragged as he looks in the mirror and sees only himself, blood streaked down an otherwise pale face. 

“I told you not to follow me,” he says bitterly as he opens the door. But it’s not Meg on the other side, it’s Cal. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Aaron corrects, his voice lowering into something normal, something _obedient_ as he opens the door wider and watches Cal lean against the jamb. 

“You okay kid?” Cal asks in that same tone of voice he used after every single one of Aaron’s nightmares. But while it used to bring nothing but peace, now… now it makes his heart ache. 

“Do I not look okay?” Aaron says softly, the stuffing beaten out of him already tonight as he continues to hold a towel to his bleeding head. 

“You look like you got beat up.”

“Yeah, well, the other guy was worse,” Aaron mutters, making Cal laugh. 

“I know. I saw him downstairs. Told him to go get his nose checked out. Think you might’ve broken it, kiddo.” 

“He should thank me, then. Maybe it’ll improve his appearance.” 

Cal laughs again, evidently charmed by Aaron’s unrepentant petulance. And for the second time tonight, Aaron just wants to curl up in a ball and let the world do whatever it wants to him. 

“That’s my boy,” Cal sighs, and Aaron hates the way that makes him feel. Wanted. Loved. Safe. 

Terrified. 

_How long did you know I was gay?_ he wants to ask. _How long did you know about Robert? About me and Meg?_

_Did you ever even love me?_

None of those questions pass his lips, though, and they never will. Because you can’t be disappointed by the answer to a question you never ask, can you? 

“Are you going to be okay to go to Ireland?” Cal asks a few long seconds later. “Because I can find someone else.” 

“I’m fine,” Aaron replies resolutely. “I just wanna get back to normal.” 

They stare at each other for what feels like ages, Cal assessing him, weighing him up, while Aaron stands there looking as strong and fierce as he can. A difficult task right now when his heart is broken, but eventually it works because Cal nods at him and smiles. 

“Pack for three days,” he says, his voice businesslike now that he’s got the answers he wanted. “We leave first thing in the morning.” 

Aaron just nods in response, not trusting his ability to speak right now. And then he returns to his wound to see if it’s stopped bleeding yet. 

Three days in Ireland are nothing when put against three weeks at Robert’s, but it’s all that’s on offer tonight. And Aaron would be an idiot not to take it. 

~*~

He doesn’t know what to bring on the trip, and he can’t tell if that’s because he’s never had to do something like this before or because his mind is completely useless at the moment. 

He can’t stop thinking about Robert, can’t keep the fantasies at bay as he rifles through his wardbrobe and tries to pick out the things that are mob appropriate. 

He needs a suit, right? He’s probably gonna need a suit. 

Staring at a sea of black, though, he’s at a loss as to which one to pick. Which cut should he choose? Should he go with a white shirt? A black one? A blue suit with black accents? Which one is gonna make him look like he actually belongs as opposed to making him look like the fraud he is? 

_Robert would know,_ he thinks. Robert would be able to pick out the exact perfect suit, shirt, tie and shoes combination for any given situation, even one so outlandish as Meeting with the Mob. 

But Robert would probably also hate that Aaron is doing this in the first place, so maybe he wouldn’t help after all. Maybe he’d pick out some floral shirt with a light blue suit, anything to make Aaron look ridiculous enough to be kicked out of his family altogether. 

Fuck, he misses him. How is it possible to miss someone this much when they’ve only been apart for a couple of hours? 

_Because you know you won’t see him again,_ his mind supplies helpfully. He’s not missing what came before but rather what was supposed to come _after._ The years they would’ve had, maybe even, if Aaron had been able to keep a proper handle on the situation. 

_Who the hell are you kidding?_ the voice in the back of his head asks. His father this time. And he’s right. Cal already knew. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart. 

Still doesn’t stop him from _wanting…_

_“You haven’t finished packing yet?” Robert asks, a smile in his voice long before Aaron sees it plastered across his face._

_“Someone has been keeping me busy all morning,” he replies pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Robert and wanting nothing more than to devour the smirk that comes back his way._

_“Here, I’ll help,” Robert says, shoving Aaron lightly out of the way so he can get his hands on Aaron’s half of the wardrobe. “Even though you and I both know you’re going to spend most of the trip starkers.”_

_Robert looks back over his shoulder and drags his eyes down Aaron’s body in a way that always manages to make him feel wanted, desired,_ **_needed._ **

_It’s like a drug, it is._

_“Here, you’re definitely packing this,” Robert says enthusiastically as he tosses a light gray jumper over his shoulder._

_“I thought you hated this jumper?”_

_Robert turns to look at him again, smiling mischievously as he says, “It was reverse psychology. I knew if I told you I hated it, you’d wear it more often out of spite.”_

_Robert winks._

_Aaron sputters._

_But he can’t deny that Robert’s plan has worked on him like a charm. Every time he puts on this particular jumper he revels in the fact that it’s likely winding Robert up._

_Bastard._

_“I ever tell you how sexy I find it when you use psychology on me?” Aaron purrs as he places his hands on Robert’s hips before dragging them slowly up his sides._

_“Liar,” Robert replies, but he already sounds breathless, which means Aaron’s got ‘im just where he wants ‘im._

_“It’s true. There’s nothing I find sexier than a big… brain.”_

_Robert barks out a surprised laugh at that, turning in the circle of Aaron’s arms before saying, “Oh right, and it’s my big_ **_brain_ ** _that first attracted you to me.”_

_“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies innocently. But Robert just laughs again before flat out tackling him to the bed._

_Aaron giggles into the kiss, breathless and needy but also conscious of time before saying, “We’re gonna be late.”_

_Robert stops kissing his neck long enough to lean back and look him in the eye. “What are they going to do? Start without us?”_

_“Good point,” Aaron says, slapping Robert gently on his chest. But when his hand comes away wet and tacky, a chill runs over his body._

_“What,” he starts to ask as he looks down at his hand, his palm and fingers coated in blood. And he’s pushing at Robert a second later, arranging them so they’re sitting next to one another so he can get a better look only Robert is wearing a black t-shirt and Aaron can’t see anything but dark on dark and he’s terrified all of a sudden about what will happen if he…_

_He pulls off Robert’s t-shirt, getting a giddy little, “Someone’s in a hurry,” in reply. But Robert’s words are swallowed up in static when he sees the state of Robert’s chest._

_There are at least five bullet holes there, each one pumping blood down Robert’s chest, onto his lap, the sheets, spreading_ **_everywhere_ ** _as Aaron reaches out and tries to plug the holes, hold Robert’s blood in until… until…_

_“Aaron,” Robert says in an attempt to get Aaron’s attention, but Aaron is panicking for real now, gasping for breath as Robert continues to sit there like nothing is happening even though he’s_ **_bleeding to death_ ** _right in front of Aaron._

_“Aaron,” Robert tries again. **"Aaron."**_ _But Aaron just keeps pushing at the blood, trying to shove it back into Robert’s body, keep him alive just one second longer so-_

“Aaron!” someone shouts from beside him, a female voice which of course means Meg. And even though he doesn’t want to see her, he’s still glad to _see her_ because he’s struggling to breathe and he needed to get out of there. 

He can still feel Robert’s blood on his hands as he looks down at the light gray jumper clutched in his fist, his knuckles bone white from how hard he’s gripping it. But it wasn’t real, _none of it was real,_ and Aaron just needs to focus on that and everything will be okay. 

“What do you want?” he asks, hoping Meg doesn’t notice the tremor in his voice as he shoves the jumper back in his closet and flexes his fingers to ease the ache. 

Meg answers him by asking her own question, her voice the kind of quiet meek she uses when she’s afraid Aaron’s gonna kick off at her for caring about him. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Didn’t Cal tell you?” he asks as he stuffs a few more jumpers into his bag. “I’m going to Ireland with him.” 

“So you are going through with that. I was hoping-”

“Hoping what? That I’d be packing for something else? Maybe to run away to France with my boyfriend?” 

He doesn’t realize he’s thinking it until he says it, but it makes sense, Meg having a part in this. Because there was never a point in Aaron’s life where she wouldn’t stick her beak in if she could. 

“Aaron,” she says, but she doesn’t need to speak another word. The sound of her voice is all the confirmation he needs. 

It’s why he turns on her, anger chasing up the line of his spine as he looks down at her and says, “Let me guess, the running away thing? You put it in his head n’all, didn’t you?”

She just nods, tight-lipped and sorry-eyed in a way that almost makes Aaron back off. 

Almost. 

“Well tough luck, it didn’t work. So you can just drop it now, okay Meg? Stay the hell out of my life.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” she all but pleads as she grabs his arm, stopping him from chucking yet another stupid jumper into his bag. 

“Do what?” he asks as he shakes her off roughly. “This is my job. This is my _life._ Of course I have to do it. What else am I gonna do?” 

His voice keeps getting louder the longer he speaks, and he knows it’s not really her fault. She’s just trying to help him. But _help_ these days looks a lot like _heartache,_ and he can’t take another second of that. Not without giving up for good. 

So he looks at her stonily, making sure she can clearly see how serious he is when he says, “I need to pack.” 

She walks out in a huff, but at least she walks out. 

~*~

Their arrival in Dublin is less remarkable than Aaron thought it would be. It’s an impressive city, sure, three times the size of Leeds and with more for a tourist to see. But when everything boils down, it’s the same thing he has back home. 

A giant cage masked as a sprawling city. 

He can tell Cal is on edge already. He keeps obsessively checking his mobile, his fingers sliding over the screen more roughly than normal. And there’s a look about him that reminds Aaron of a rabid animal caught on a lead. 

Aaron’s obviously never been outside of the country with him, but he always imagined Cal being just as cool and calm on foreign soil as he is back home. Which is probably why he’s rattled as well, as if Cal’s tension is contagious and Aaron is already sick with it. 

He wants to ask what the plan is, why they’re here, what he should say, who he should be. But when Cal is in one of these moods, it’s best to just sit as still as possible and keep your mouth shut. 

He’s not a violent man, not with Aaron or his kids anyway. But his anger, when pushed, is a terrifying thing to witness. And Aaron’s got no interest in seeing it any time soon. 

Cal’s calmed a bit by the time they reach the hotel, his voice almost back to normal when he says, “We’re having dinner at Declan O’Reilly’s house tonight,” giving Aaron’s mind a moment to supply _the head of the Irish mob_ to the end of the sentence. 

“Wear your suit, obviously, and leave your weapons here. They’ll only search you and take them anyway.” 

Cal sounds disappointed, like he’s come across that problem before and there’s a capital “S” _Story_ to be told. But Aaron is still doing his best impression of a walking mannequin so he doesn’t ask. 

The O’Reilly’s house is massive, larger and more fortified than their house by at least double if not more. And it makes the tie around Aaron’s neck feel suddenly tighter like someone’s choking him. 

Or like someone’s trying to hold him back. 

They’re checked for weapons, just like Cal said they’d be, and then they’re ushered into an over-the-top marble-coated entranceway to presumably wait for O’Reilly to come and escort them in. 

It’s so completely like the mob you see in American films that Aaron would laugh if he weren’t worried they’d make him “sleep with the fishes” for doing it. 

“Callum! It’s so good to see you!” O’Reilly booms as he walks towards them a good twenty minutes later. 

He’s wearing a suit tonight, something even fancier than the one he’d worn when he’d visited the club a few months back, and something that makes Aaron feel like he got his out of a cereal box. 

He’s taller than both Cal and Aaron, with salt and pepper hair and a physique no doubt created by a personal trainer in a million pound gym. And even though Aaron had been neutral on him all those months ago, today he can safely say that he already doesn’t like him. 

He wants to go home, wants to walk his route, see his customers, and end the night in Robert’s bed. Instead, he’s over three hundred kilometres away from anything remotely familiar outside Cal and stuck with a ponce of a mob boss who could probably have Aaron “disappeared” for looking at him funny. 

This is gonna be a fun night. 

“You remember my son, Aaron,” Cal says, placing a hand in the small of Aaron’s back to usher him closer to O’Reilly. 

“This is the boy that’s going to marry your daughter, right? It feels like the pair of you have been engaged forever.”

Cal laughs, the mirthless one, but he keeps his hand steadily on Aaron when he replies, “It’s going to be a summer wedding now. Meg can’t make up her mind about anything. Mark my words, though: These two will make it down the aisle if I have to drag them there myself.” 

Somehow, Cal’s hand feels heavier where it’s resting near Aaron’s waist, like he’s pushing him forward even now, urging him where he wants him to go. And that kind of pressure used to be comforting to him, used to tell him he had a place, a job, an understanding. But Robert’s gone and messed it all up apparently because now the only thing he feels is trapped. 

As either a power play or a _fuck you_ to Cal, O’Reilly insists that Aaron sit next to him at dinner instead of Cal. There aren’t many around the table - just O’Reilly’s wife on his right hand, Aaron on his left, and Cal and O’Reilly’s two grown children across the way. But as the meal progresses, it feels as if there are dozens of people there, all talking at once. 

He closes his eyes for a second, but before his mind can go anywhere more pleasant, he feels a hand on his thigh. 

Scratch that, he feels a hand _moving up_ his thigh. 

He doesn’t know what to do here. O’Reilly is clearly trying to feel him up, but his face, as well as the faces of everyone around the table, remain utterly oblivious. Like O’Reilly’s hand is just doing it without his mind’s permission. 

He’s practically to Aaron’s crotch right now, though, and Aaron is not about letting him make it all the way there. So he stands up suddenly and says, “Excuse me, where’s the loo?” 

It’s O’Reilly’s wife that answers him, giving him directions on how to navigate their sprawling estate. And Aaron is so rattled that by the time he finds the damned thing, he has to sit on the lid of the toilet and stick his head between his legs. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all he needs to do right now. Find the trigger, ease off of it, step away, the standard reaction he has to panic attacks because that’s what this is, isn’t it? 

_Fuck._

He can’t afford this right now. 

After about a minute of solid anxiety, his breath aching in his chest, he takes out his phone. But who is he gonna call? Meg will just tell him _I told you so_ and Robert is strictly off limits, except they’re the only ones Aaron has. 

He moves to his messages instead, seeing Robert sitting snug right at the top and he starts just reading them before he even realizes he’s opened the thread. 

They’re all completely stupid. Everything Robert has sent him via text message from the time he conned his phone number out of him has been utterly _stupid._ But for some reason right now, that stupidity is calming him, slipping in and out of his consciousness as he learns how to breathe for the umpteenth time like he’s just fallen out of the flipping womb. 

_Did you know that the square root of sixty-four is eight? It’s important to me that you know this, Aaron._

That’s the one that does it, that flips the switch from panicked breathing to hysterical laughter. And within a minute Aaron’s head is between his legs again. But this time it’s because he’s laughing too hard, not because he’s afraid he’s gonna die in some strange closeted mob boss’ loo. 

What even is his life? 

He makes his way back downstairs eventually, the party now having moved to some sort of fancy drawing room complete with the largest piano Aaron has ever seen. And it takes only a second for O’Reilly to clock him across the room. 

There’s a look in his eye now, one that Aaron has seen a hundred times before in back alleys and abandoned buildings. And here, now, it disgusts him so much he’s worried he might need the loo again after all. 

He makes his way to one of the large, elongated windows, stares out at the tightly trimmed hedges in the enormous back garden, and finally lets his mind wander for a minute. 

_The church is dim, lit only by candles surrounding the main hall. But even in the soft light, Aaron can still see Robert clearly,_ **_immediately_ ** _like his eyes will always just direct there, his true north._

_There are people in the pews, and a song playing on a radio, slow and melodic. But all of that just falls to the back of his mind as he begins walking down the aisle._

_Every step closer moves his pulse a little higher, the excitement causing his fingers to tingle as his eyes remain locked on Robert alone. Everything else just disappearing, fading into a blurry background as the focus around Robert sharpens to high definition clarity._

_His suit is ridiculous, Robert’s is. They’d made a deal that they could each wear whatever they wanted. Aaron had chosen simple black, with a white shirt and a blood red tie. But Robert..._

_He thinks it’s a blue suit. The lighting in here is playing tricks on him so for all he knows it could be green. He’s got a waistcoat on, though, and a shirt… well, it’s a shirt covered with flowers, innit? Because what else would Robert wear on a day like today? All of it topped by some sort of pink tie._

_His own smile is inching across his face, making him feel dizzy as he continues walking in a straight line to the only destination that’s ever made sense to him. His heart still just_ **_thudding_ ** _until something else thuds altogether._

_The room shakes like there’s an earthquake beneath their feet, the waves coming in quick succession as debris starts to fall from the ceiling and cracks make their way up the walls._

_Robert is still just standing there, though, staring at Aaron like nothing’s changed. His expression just so_ **_happy_ ** _that Aaron feels almost bad for trying to snap him out of it._

_“Robert! We need to get out of here now!” he shouts as a chunk of cement the size of their sofa crashes to the ground mere centimetres from where Robert is. But he doesn’t even flinch._

_He’s saying something back now, speaking to Aaron from across the way, but Aaron can’t make out the words through the sound of the church crumbling around them as he runs to the end of the aisle to try and drag Robert to safety._

_He doesn’t make it in time. Robert’s name is dying on his lips again when another portion of the roof caves in right above where Robert is standing. Where he_ **_was_ ** _standing. His body disappearing as a primal scream curls up from Aaron’s belly._

_He makes it there eventually, begins pawing at the wreckage in an attempt to unearth Robert, his voice repeating a desperate, “Please don’t be dead,” over and over again but he can’t seem to find him. Can’t even see a single trace of him as-_

A hand slips into his pocket, jarring him back to reality. And at first, he thinks it’s Cal, come to tell him to participate more, but apparently his luck isn’t nearly that good. 

“It’s for if you get bored tonight,” O’Reilly says with a smile that turns Aaron’s stomach. But thankfully once he’s made his pitch, he walks away, giving Aaron time to fish his hand in his pocket and pull out…

A hotel key card with a note stuck to the back, listing the room number and nothing else. And if Aaron doesn’t get the hell out of here right now, he’s going to go completely mad. 

He has no idea how he makes it through the rest of the evening. His mind is literally just nowhere throughout, drifting on blank planes as he hopefully nods and smiles in all the right places. 

Cal seems to be doing alright at least, far more relaxed than he was earlier. Only that’s apparently a mirage because the second they get back into their hotel room, Cal loses it. 

He starts destroying everything that’s not held down, screaming unintelligible nonsense as he completely dismantles the room in record time before turning on Aaron and shouting, “The bastard is trying to screw me!” like Aaron has any idea what he’s talking about.

_You’re not the only one he’s trying to screw,_ Aaron thinks as he wishes he’d paid at least a little more attention at the party. But if Cal expects him to say something, he doesn’t give him the time to do it. 

“If he thinks he’s going to gouge me like that, he’s got another thing coming,” Cal adds, pointing his finger at Aaron to make the point. And this… this is something that Aaron can work with. 

“You know, you don’t have to deal with him if he’s taking advantage,” Aaron says, leaping into a pit he’s been staring at for the better part of six months like it’s nothing, because maybe it isn’t. 

What’s the point of delaying this any longer? It’s not like he’s got anything else to be living for. 

“Where the hell else am I going to find a supplier that big?” Cal asks dubiously, placing his hands on his sides and looking to Aaron like he’s either crazy or a genius, no in between. 

But Aaron’s sure he’s tilted more towards the genius end of the spectrum when he says, simply, “I think I have a solution.” 

~*~

The warehouse is colder than normal, like Robert’s absence has sucked the life out of everything. That’s okay, though. Aaron can deal with that because tonight, he’s taking control of his life.

He didn’t tell Cal much about the deal, mostly because he wanted to make sure Emile was still onside first. But Emile had practically snapped his hand off when he’d made the offer to meet again, and so Aaron figures he’s got every right to be confident here. 

It’s all for Robert, what he’s doing here tonight. Cal had told Robert that if he broke things off, he wouldn’t kill him, but Aaron really has no idea if he can trust a word of that or not. If he can make this deal, though, prove to Cal that he’s all in, then there’d be no reason to go after Robert, would there? 

He could move on from Aaron, get married again, maybe have some kids or a dog or summat. He could build a better _life,_ and Aaron could live free of the guilt he’d have if he were the one responsible for taking that life away. 

The lantern is already lit in the office, the battery powered one they use sometimes when the moonlight isn’t enough. Aaron can see it as he approaches. And something like excitement overtakes him the closer he gets because he’s never done anything like this before in his life. He’s never felt so much like an adult before in his twenty-six years on this planet. And he can’t wait to follow through with it. 

“Aaron, good to see you,” Emile says as Aaron walks through the office door, his thick accent warm and welcoming to Aaron, like that of an old friend. 

“Good to see you too, Emile,” he replies, taking Emile’s outstretched hand and shaking it firmly in his own. 

“Shall we get down to business?” 

Aaron nods. Emile has never been one to hang about for no reason, and tonight, Aaron is thankful for that. 

He’s in no mood for idle chit chat. 

“This is the deal my boss is offering,” Emile says as he places a stack of papers onto the desk, right next to the lantern. And Aaron immediately begins looking through them hungrily, searching for the solution he’d promised Cal. 

It looks good from what Aaron can see. He hadn’t memorized every part of Cal’s last deal with O’Reilly, but knowing that O’Reilly is planning to worsen it makes it easy to see that the French deal is far better than anything they’d get from the Irish. 

_I did it,_ he thinks. He actually _did it,_ found an alternative, solved a problem. And he’s so flipping excited about that fact that he doesn’t realize there’s something off about the way Emile looks until he starts speaking. 

“I’m so sorry about this, Aaron,” he says, nodding his head at his outstretched hand. And oh, that’s what’s different. 

There’s a gun in his hand. 

“Emile, what,” Aaron starts to ask, but that’s as far as his brain can get given how fast it’s scrambling to find a solution to his little _Emile is holding a gun on him_ problem. 

“Your brother found me about a month ago, offered me… a better deal, a better _cut,_ provided that I…”

He trails off, leaving the rest of the blanks to be filled in by Aaron. 

“Provided you kill me.” 

It’s not a question, it’s just a statement of his flaming destiny. 

“We can talk about this, Emile,” Aaron tries anyway, even though he can see the pain clearly on Emile’s face, the kind that says _I’m about to murder someone I’ve become almost friends with in cold blood._

Emile shakes his head firmly. “You’ve been dragging your heels for months, mon ami. And I could not keep stalling. I had to act, and Liam offered me the chance for that.” 

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna put a bullet in me because my brother told you to?” 

It sounds ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but the pounding in his chest shows just how much he believes the words. 

Emile shrugs one shoulder and says, “It’s only business.” 

“Bullshit!” Aaron shouts, trying to buy himself some time as his hand inches towards the center of his lower back, where he’s carrying something Robert had begged him to. Because if he can just get to it…

“This is my deal. _Mine._ That prick has no right to take it from me!” 

He doesn’t care about the deal. He never cared about the deal, even today, when he’d come to seal it. But for as much as Aaron has always thought he hated his life, he doesn’t want to die here, now, with his and Robert’s sofa within eyesight. He’s not ready to go. 

_He’s not ready to go._

“I really am sorry,” Emile repeats, and the gravity of those words is crushing as he raises the gun so that it’s pointed right at Aaron’s heart. 

Two shots ring out almost simultaneously, but Aaron doesn’t notice if he’s been shot at first. He’s too busy watching as Emile’s body crumples to the ground, a good third of his skull missing from where Aaron’s bullet ripped through it. 

_I’m not dead,_ he thinks, but just as those words skip through his head he feels a sharp, excruciating pain in his stomach. 

_I’m not dead_ ** _yet,_** comes his thought this time as he loses his balance, tumbling to the floor before turning over onto his back and staring up at the old, mould-covered ceiling. 

He puts his hand on his stomach, feeling for the epicenter of the pain, and not surprisingly his fingers come away soaked in blood. More of it just leaking out of his side and onto the floor as his heart begins to kick up in panic. 

_That’ll only push the blood out faster,_ he remembers Cal telling him at one point. _If you ever get shot, it’s critical that you stay calm._ But how the fuck is he supposed to do that when he’s… when he’s… 

_Robert,_ he thinks. God he wishes Robert were here right now. Robert would know what to do. He’d take Aaron in his arms, fold him up all safe and warm, hold him until the pain went away, until _everything_ went away, until he…

Things go dark for a second, his mind slipping somewhere dangerous before he sucks in a deep breath and pulls himself back. Because he’s not dying here. Not if he can help it. And _help,_ that’s the word he’s looking for. He needs help. Because if he doesn’t get help he’s just gonna bleed out on this floor and then he’ll be dead and Robert will probably blame himself and Meg will feel awful and Cal will be disappointed and Aaron will be _dead_ and he _needs help_ so he reaches into his pocket and takes out his mobile. 

He freezes. Because what if Cal was in on this? What if it wasn’t just Liam? What if-

His body feels suddenly on fire with pain, a weak, garbled scream ripping from his lips as he tries to literally hold in the life that’s seeping out of his body and there’s only one person he can trust. Only one person. One. Just one. Only one. And so he calls that person because even if he can’t help him, even if he dies, then at least he’ll get to hear Robert’s voice one last time. 

“Aaron?” Robert says, panic in his tone like so many times before because Robert cares about him, doesn’t he? He _loves_ him, and you panic when you’re scared for someone you love. 

Aaron wants to say it back. He’s never really told anyone but Meg that, but he wants to say it so bad now it hurts but he actually really does hurt, all over, fire licking his skin, remember? And so he doesn’t have time for this. 

“Warehouse,” he manages to choke out. “Hel… help. Please. Help.” 

The phone slips from his hand, still coated with blood, and clacks uselessly on the floor. And he can still hear Robert calling out from the other end of the line, his voice tinny and muffled, but he can’t make out the words anymore. He can’t make out any words but-

_“I call upon these persons here present,” Robert says, a big, stupid grin on his face as he holds Aaron’s hands, sweaty palms n’all. “To witness that I, Robert Jacob Sugden, do take you, Aaron Livesy, to be my lawful wedded husband.”_

_Something almost blooms in Aaron’s chest at that, his stomach aching -_ **_blood, so much blood_ ** _\- from how happy he is as he squeezes Robert’s hands and nods for him to continue._

_“I give you this ring as a symbol of our love,” he says, his voice hitching around the word_ **_love_ ** _as he places the ring on Aaron’s finger. “All that I am, I give to you. And all that I have, I share with you.”_

_There’s a tickle in the back of his throat, probably from nerves, and so Aaron coughs into his fist briefly, hating that he has to let go of Robert’s hand to do it -_ **_blood, there’s blood there too, draped over his fingers_ ** _\- before he reconnects them._

_“I promise to be faithful,” Robert continues as he twists the ring on Aaron’s finger, a nervous habit Aaron knows he has as well. “And to be loyal, and to respect and cherish you throughout our lives together.”_

_Aaron is crying now, the tears are flowing pretty freely as he looks deep into Robert’s eyes, seeing the years of their life stretching out before them, one after another after another after another after another..._

_“Til death do us part,” Robert finishes and then-_

His face is just gone. The whole church is just gone and all Aaron is left with is this stupid warehouse, this stupid office, and his stupid, dying body. 

“Til death,” Aaron starts, but he doesn’t even get to finish the vow before everything just goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT A DEATH FIC. I PROMISE.


	20. Under the Gun

It’s been an hour and a half since Aaron walked out, and Robert hasn’t moved a muscle. Not since he put his back to the door, slid down to the floor, and hugged his knees tightly to his chest. 

He’s starting to cramp, but he doesn’t care about any of that right now. Doesn’t care about _anything,_ really, apart from the fact that he’d told Aaron he loved him and Aaron had still left. 

This has never happened to Robert before. He’s never really loved anyone before, not this way, not this _deep._ And now he’s gone for good, Aaron’s last words running clearly through his head like a bell: 

_I said it’s over and it’s_ **_over._ ** _Don’t… don’t contact me again. Don’t come looking for me. Just don’t, okay Robert? Just pretend you never met me._

He couldn’t have been any clearer than that. And at first, Robert had bucked against it. Aaron had told him off before and he’d still come ‘round, right? 

But Aaron had never seemed so upset before, Aaron had never thrown his own past at Robert like a weapon before, and Aaron had never looked so serious about something before, not in the entire time Robert has known him. He wants Robert _gone._ And Robert doesn’t know if he has the strength to fight that any longer.

The silence is suffocating, filled as it is with voices he’s usually better at blocking out. Like his father, telling him he’s nothing but a screw up. Or Andy, blaming the whole sum of the world’s problems on him. Or Katie. Chrissie. Everyone he’s ever wronged coming back to tell him that he deserves this, to be alone, to be without Aaron when Aaron is the only person he’s ever met that he could envision himself spending his entire life with. 

If you think that’s not a startling revelation, you’d be dead wrong. A revelation that he mulls over for hours more, stretching out his legs so he’ll be able to walk in the morning but otherwise not moving until the sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket wrenches him back to the present. 

“Aaron?” he asks, the word tripping out of his mouth like it’s got two left feet as he picks the phone up blindly and puts it to his ear. 

“No, it’s me,” Meg says, causing disappointment to flood through Robert’s system like a drug pumped straight into his veins. “What the hell happened with you and Aaron tonight?” 

“You know what, Meg, I don’t really have the energy to do this right now. Why don’t you ask him?” 

He’s sure she probably did. She’d only come to him if Aaron shut her down cold. But the fact of the matter is, Robert is too fucking tired to talk to her right now about how his future with Aaron just went up in flames like everything he loves seems to do. So if she’s looking for gossip, she’s come to the wrong source. 

“He broke up with you, didn’t he?” she asks, and the only reason he doesn’t flat out shout at her is because her voice is soft when she asks the question, caring in a way that makes total sense to him, why Aaron always seems to let her in. 

“I’m not doing this,” he says anyway, his voice far tamer than it would be otherwise. But before he has a chance to hang up on her, she shouts the word, “Wait!” in his ear. 

“What?” 

“Meet me tomorrow,” she says desperately. 

“No.” 

“Please, Robert. Just… just ten minutes, okay? I’ll text you the address. Just come on your lunch break or something, yeah? Please?”

Robert lets the silence settle between them, lets her sweat it out for a bit before he says the word, “Fine,” and hangs up. 

After all, just because he said he would go, that doesn’t mean he has to follow through. 

~*~

He does follow through. Of course he does. Because he’s not a total wanker. But his legs are dragging as he makes his way to the park where Meg asked to meet, an industrial sized black coffee in one hand and his mobile in the other, just in case. 

He didn’t sleep at all last night, not one single wink. All he did was toss and turn and smell Aaron’s pillow like some sort of saddo, the sheets wrapping around him like shackles as the moonlight illuminated the place where Aaron used to lie. 

He doesn’t know how to do this, how to be _heartbroken._ And he’s not sure how he’ll be able to figure it out before the pain puts him six feet underground. 

It’s been _one day._ Not even one day. A half a day, really, and he already feels like he’s crumbling to dust. 

Meg is already there when he gets there, staring at some children playing a game of tag, it seems. Her eyes a little misty, which is just perfect for him because Robert still hasn’t shed a single tear over this whole mess yet, and he doesn’t really fancy starting with Meg around. 

Once he lets go, he has no idea how he’ll stop. 

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he says as he stares out at the same children Meg is watching, his voice bone dry from a night of just trying to breathe in whatever remnants of Aaron remain in his flat. 

She pauses a few moments before she replies, “Aaron used to come here to get away when we were younger. He didn’t think I knew, but I followed him sometimes, to make sure he was okay. I didn’t used to get it, but I think… I think he just wanted to see what it was like, people living a normal life. Like if he studied it long enough he’d be able to have it too, or summat.” 

There’s a lump lodged in his throat when he speaks again. “Meg, what did you want to talk about?” 

She looks at him then, but he refuses to look back when she asks, “What happened between you two?” 

Robert shrugs, because even though he’s here, that doesn’t mean he’s ready, willing, or able to talk about this. The stitches haven’t even settled yet, for christsake, and she’s asking him to rip the bandage off without a care. 

“He beat up Liam last night,” Meg supplies, and all Robert can think is the word _good._ Because from the stories Aaron’s told him about his older “brother,” it’s clear that the prat deserved a good kicking. 

“He also went to Ireland today,” she adds, and that one… that one hurts. A cramp in his gut that just gets worse the longer he sits on it because Ireland means something. It means _depth._ It means Aaron being stuck as his creepy pseudo father’s right hand for the foreseeable. And Robert can’t… 

“We broke up,” he chokes out, because if anyone in his life might give him sympathy, it’s her. 

“Why?” 

Robert shrugs again, feeling more like Aaron every time he does it. “I told him I loved him and his response was that we shouldn’t be together anymore. I think…” He pauses, wondering if he should include this next bit. But in for a penny, in for a pound, right? So he says, “I think it had something to do with your dad threatening me.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” she asks, her voice pinched now in something that either resembles panic or outrage, he can’t tell which. 

“He broke into my flat,” Robert says as levelly as he can manage, turning to look at her finally so she can see in his eyes how much he isn’t lying. “Told me he’d killed Aaron’s dad and that he’d do the same to me if I didn’t back off.” 

“No,” she says sharply, and this expression… this one Robert knows perfectly well. It’s burned into his brain from when he’d seen it on Aaron’s face last night. 

_Him killing Gordon has got nothing to do with him supposedly threatening you._

That’s what Aaron had said. When Robert had told him that his father-of-sorts had threatened his life, the only word Aaron could come up with was _supposedly._

Now Meg is looking back at him in disbelief, her voice shaking when she says, “You’re lying. My dad… my dad wouldn’t do that. He’s not a _murderer._ And he wouldn’t threaten you like that.”

Robert turns in his seat so he can grab her arm, tugging on it so that her eyes slip back to his when he says, “He’s not the man you think he is,” because he isn’t. And if Aaron isn’t capable of realizing that, maybe Meg is. 

“He’s my dad,” Meg says as tears begin to streak down her face. “He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…”

“He did,” Robert interrupts, shattering Meg’s already broken record. “And if you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine. But this is still Aaron’s life we’re talking about here, and that man is dangerous for him. Even you’ve admitted that.” 

She gulps, her eyes going wide as she looks at Robert like she’s begging him to tell her this is all just a dream. 

It isn’t, though. Which is why he says, “And if anything happens to Aaron because of it, that’s going to be on you, too. Think that’s something you can live with? Because I know I can’t.” 

He gets to his feet at that, chucks his cold coffee in the nearest bin and heads back to work. Because he said what needed to be said, and now he knows what he has to do. 

~*~

So Aaron is in Ireland for however many days, hobnobbing with the Irish mafia elite. That’s something that’s happening, something Robert can’t stop. But when he gets back… _when_ he gets back, Robert has to _do something._ Has to stop sitting on his hands and make some sort of move because what he’d told Meg was true. 

If anything happens to Aaron and he could’ve somehow prevented it, he’ll never be able to forgive himself. 

He’s got a few days to plan at least, but each idea he comes up with is dumber than the last. Because when your best idea is _kidnap Aaron and stick him in the boot of your car and drive as far as you can go,_ the bad ones seem like something out of Monty Python. 

Meg’s tried to call him at least three times a day for three days straight, but Robert doesn’t want to talk to her anymore. Even if she has started to believe him about her father, she’s still from the House of Cult, she’s still likely spent her whole life being brainwashed by that man, so what’s the point in trying to get her onside? 

He’ll do this on his own. He’s the only one he can trust, after all. He’s the only one in Aaron’s life truly willing to drag him to safety, kicking and screaming if need be. Meg comes close to that kind of devotion, but all she’d wanted to do was chuck him at Robert and leave him to figure it out. 

No, Robert is _on his own._ And that’s just fine by him. He’s used to it, right? He’s been doing it ever since his dad ran him out of his home and told him to never come back. 

_I don’t need to be saved,_ Aaron had shouted at him. But tough, Robert thinks. He’s going to save him anyways whether Aaron likes it or not. 

~*~

The flames lick his body, peeling back layers of skin like tissue paper. In front of him is the old barn; behind him is nothing but darkness. But the screams that pierce the night aren’t his mother’s like usual. They’re different, deeper, calling to Robert like a siren song. 

Every time he tries to break into the building, though, he’s pushed back by some imaginary force. And it’s Aaron in there - he knows it’s him - but if this dream has taught him anything it’s that he’ll never get to him. 

Robert refuses to believe that anymore. 

He beats on the old, broken wood, willing to do it for the rest of his life if he has to, as long as he can still hear Aaron’s voice. His own voice hoarse from calling out his name, yelling, “Aaron, I’m coming,” over and over again until his vocal cords simply give out entirely. 

His strength doesn’t give out this time, though. In dead silence he works, sucking in smoke like it’s oxygen until he finally cracks through the wood. 

He’s there, right in front of Robert’s eyes. Aaron is just standing there, tears streaked through soot, staring at Robert like he hung the moon, stars, and everything in between. 

He runs to Aaron, feels the solid weight of him as he collapses in Robert’s arms. And this has never happened before. Robert has never gotten inside. Robert has never _saved anyone._ But he’s supporting Aaron’s weight against his own, helping him out of the barn, while something like triumph surges through him. 

He did it. He did it. He _did-_

The shrill ring of his phone breaks through the end of the dream, making him sit bolt upright immediately because five days ago he set a ringtone specifically for Aaron - the most loud, annoying one he could find in case he called in the middle of the night. And right now, it’s doing the trick. 

“Aaron?” he asks, panic coating every inch of him like a second skin as he presses the phone hard to his ear and waits. 

“Warehouse,” Aaron says eventually, and there’s something wrong, Robert can tell already. Something with Aaron’s voice, like it’s only halfway there as he adds, “Hel… help. Please. Help.” 

Robert is on his feet within a heartbeat, his own pounding mercilessly in his chest as he says, “Aaron… Aaron, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay? Aaron, please talk to me. _Please,_ just talk to me, Aaron.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, though. The line is still open, and Robert can hear the faint sound of Aaron’s ragged breathing. And that’s really all he needs to hear, isn’t it? 

“I’m coming!” he shouts, hoping Aaron will hear him, _believe_ him. “I’m coming right now. Just… just hang on. Just stay with me, okay Aaron? I’m coming!” 

He doesn’t end the call, he just leaves his phone on as he throws on some trackies, a jumper, and some old trainers. And then he’s out the door, running down the stairs because he can’t bear the idea of standing still in the lift. His voice still panicked as he continues speaking to Aaron as if Aaron can actually hear him. 

“I love you, okay,” he says for some stupid reason even he doesn’t know. “I love you and I’m coming for you and whatever happened, you’re going to be _okay,_ I promise you that Aaron. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, do you hear me?” 

_Of course he doesn’t hear you,_ an unhelpful amalgamation of his father and Andy inform him. But Robert can hear _himself,_ and his reassuring words are helping him even if they’re not helping Aaron. Which is why he lets the call continue as he gets into his car, putting it on speaker and placing it on the dash as he speeds off to their warehouse, terrified of what he’s going to find there. 

“I’m coming,” he says as if his voice is about to give out on him. Because where Aaron is concerned, he’ll always come running. 

~*~

Somehow he manages to make it to the warehouse without crashing. He doesn’t remember a single second of the trip though. His mind preoccupied as it was by all the horrible things he might find.

There’s a light in the back once he steps inside, coming from the general area of the little office he and Aaron claimed as their own. And Robert runs for it, flat out _sprints_ in a way he hasn’t done since he was a kid and he and Andy used to run across the fields together, seeing who would win. 

When he gets there, his heart stops. 

The place is a mess of chaos, with two bodies on the floor - one whose legs are the only thing Robert can see, slipped in the corner, and the other…

Well the other one is Aaron, isn’t it? 

He drops to his knees, feeling the way they slide in the pool of blood forming next to Aaron’s left side. And he wants to check his pulse, feel his face, hold him tight, but Aaron is still bleeding out and so that’s the first thing he has to see to. 

He takes off his jumper, the hair on his arms rising in goosebumps from the chill in the air as he balls up the jumper and presses it hard into the general area of Aaron’s wound. 

The way Aaron screams freezes Robert’s blood. But it also makes him breathe a sigh of relief because Aaron is _alive._ And that’s already more than Robert was hoping for when he saw him lying in a pool of his own blood a few moments ago. 

“Lie back,” Robert soothes, a hand placed gently only Aaron’s shoulder to guide him back to the ground. “I’m sorry, just lie back. You’re okay. You’re going to be _okay,_ I promise you, yeah?” 

He doesn’t sound as self-assured as he did in the car, mostly because even in the dim light, he can tell how sickly pale Aaron is. 

There’s a lot of blood on the floor, a lot of blood that’s supposed to be inside Aaron’s body, and so he says, “I’m calling an ambulance, just hold tight,” before he’s even gotten his phone out of his pocket. 

“No,” Aaron groans, the word drawn out and full of pain. 

But Robert doesn’t get what he’s talking about so he holds the jumper a little more tightly to his side and says, “It’s going to be alright, Aaron. They’ll be here soon. They’re going to help you.”

“No… no… no ambulance,” he manages to sputter out, and Robert is so stupidly dialed into Aaron, his wants and needs, that he stops dialing 999 and waits to see what he’s talking about. 

“Aaron, you _need_ an ambulance,” he says, continuing this ridiculous conversation. 

Aaron bites his lip and shakes his head, his face grimacing in pain like just doing that is causing him great distress. 

“No… ambulance… killed… killed him.” 

Robert looks over his shoulder at the man across the room, the one he can see more fully now and the one that’s missing a sizable chunk of his head. 

_Fuck,_ he thinks. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ **_fuck._ **

“Aaron, we can deal with that later, okay?” he says as he turns back to Aaron, his pupils blown so wide that Robert finds himself praying for just the tiniest sliver of blue to assure him that Aaron - _his_ Aaron - is still with him. 

“No… no prison,” he says, and he’s shaking now, trembling like he’s freezing and Robert just loses it. 

“Aaron, you’re _dying,_ okay? I don’t give a fuck if you go to prison, I’m not letting you die!” 

“I know I’m… know I’m…”

He’s panting now, his breath wheezing like there’s something pressing on his lungs, and why the hell are they even talking about this? He’d said it once and he stands by it today: He’d rather see Aaron in jail than _dead._ Which is exactly what he’s going to be if Robert hesitates for much longer. 

“Just wanted,” Aaron starts talking again as one hand reaches up slowly to grab the wrist of the hand holding the jumper to his stomach. “Wanted you to… to hold me… wanted… wanted say goodbye.” 

The tears practically pour from Robert’s eyes like someone flicked a switch, all the pain and misery he’s been storing up for the past five days just coming out of him in a rush as he looks down at Aaron and thinks about what he wants, what he _needs,_ and what Robert can give him. 

He cancels the call, sends a text instead, and then works on getting Aaron out to his car. 

~*~

They’ve been sitting in front of the pitch dark clinic for almost ten minutes now, Aaron’s head in his lap as he holds the soaked-through jumper to his body and runs his fingers through Aaron’s sweaty hair. 

“I’m not letting you die,” he says as strongly as he can manage, which isn’t very strong at all. “I’m not letting you die. I’m going to save you, I promise. I’m going to-”

He stops mid-sentence, his eyes catching the lights of another car pulling into the car park. And something almost like hope surges through him as he looks down at Aaron’s barely-open eyes and says, “Hold this steady, alright? I’ll be right back.” 

Aaron nods, the only assurance Robert is likely to get from him right now, but also the only one he needs as he slips gently from beneath Aaron and storms towards the other car. 

“What the hell took you so long?!” he shouts into the cool night air. 

Grayson looks at him like he’s gone out of his mind, which maybe he has. His voice tired and strained when he replies, “I’m sorry, when someone texts me in the middle of the night to tell me that I better get to my clinic or they’re going to out me to my wife and colleagues as a gay drug addict, they need to allow for a little shake up time.”

Robert makes a _pfft_ sound, all the consideration Grayson is going to get in response to the subject of his threats, before saying simply, “He’s this way,” like Grayson is going to have any idea what he’s talking about. 

“Who’s this way?” he asks, but his question is returned by only silence. “Robert, _who_ is this way? What are we doing here? Why do you want-”

Grayson’s list of questions is cut off effectively when Robert opens the back door of his car, exposing a blood soaked interior and an even more blood soaked Aaron. 

“Is that my drug dealer?” Grayson asks skeptically, and Robert has never wanted to punch someone more in his life. 

Well, that’s not true. Cal would be a good target right now. And Aaron’s dad, if he were still alive. Basically anyone that contributed to Aaron getting to this point. But right now it’s Grayson he wants to hit as he says, “His name is Aaron, and he needs your help.”

Robert starts to drag Aaron out of the car at that, supporting him like he had when they’d left the warehouse. But instead of helping him, Grayson just stands there like a lemon, asking, “What’s happened to him?” 

Robert doesn’t answer, mostly because Aaron is quickly becoming dead weight and he’s a little busy struggling to get him upright enough to move. 

“Robert, what the hell happened to him?!” Grayson shouts, and Robert really needs him to shut up so he looks over his shoulder and hisses, “What do you think’s happened to him? He fell down a flight of stairs. He’s been _shot_ Grayson, and if you don’t do something about it soon, he’s going to die.” 

“Me?” Grayson asks, like he isn’t the only doctor in their little group of three. “I’m not a trauma surgeon. He needs… he needs to go to a hospital.” 

“Well, that’s not an option right now, and if I remember correctly, you did a two-year residency in A&E when you were first starting out, so you’re our best bet.”

“No,” Grayson says, crossing his arms over his chest for effect. “Whatever you two have gotten yourselves into, I want no part of-”

“Listen to me, you little ponce!” Robert cuts him off, Aaron’s body so heavy he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold it up. 

“That threat wasn’t idle. If he dies tonight, everyone will know every single one of your dirty secrets. You’ll lose your wife, you’ll lose your practice, you’ll lose _everything._ So either you let us inside and you work to save Aaron’s life, or you let him die in this car park and you both lose your lives tonight. Your choice.” 

Grayson stares at him for a long moment, possibly thinking if he should call Robert’s bluff. But clearly the look in Robert’s eyes is enough to tell him that he’s not joking here. If Aaron goes down, they’re all going down with him, Robert will make sure of it. 

“Get inside. Quick,” Grayson bites out, looking around the car park as if there are prying eyes everywhere. But Robert doesn’t care about any of that. All he cares about is that he’s found Aaron a doctor, one with a strong motivation to keep him alive. Now it’s all up to Grayson. 

~*~

“You’re going to have to hold him down while I do this,” Grayson says as he cleans up and puts on a smock. “And I might need you to assist in other ways. Scrub up and cover yourself.” 

He looks down at Aaron, at the way his eyes are completely closed right now, and thanks god or whoever is watching that he still has a pulse. A, “weak, thready,” one Grayson had said, according to the monitors they’ve got Aaron hooked up to, but a pulse nonetheless.

It’s a start. So is the blood pumping into Aaron’s body, type O-negative because Robert hadn’t known what Aaron’s blood type was.

_I’ll ask him when he wakes up,_ Robert thought, but then he’d realized what having that knowledge might mean for their future and he threw the idea away so as not to tempt fate. Now, he’s cleaning up just like Grayson told him to. 

Robert’s never assisted in emergency surgery before. Nothing in his life has even come close to this. So he just does everything Grayson tells him to and hopes for the best. 

“We have to get the bullet out first,” Grayson says as they both stand over Aaron’s body. “There’s no exit wound so it’s still in there somewhere, and we’ll never be able to stop the bleeding and seal up the wound until the bullet is out.”

“What do I do?” Robert asks with tears in his eyes because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, is that this is going to hurt Aaron something awful. 

Grayson looks up at him, studies his face with something like sympathy in his expression before he says, gently, “Hold his shoulders. Try to keep him as immobile as possible.” 

That’s a pretty hard task when Grayson starts digging around in Aaron’s wound with a pair of forceps and Aaron starts shaking on the table like he’s having a seizure. But Robert just holds him as tight as he can, saying soft words like, “come on, Aaron,” and, “you can do this, Aaron.” 

Like, “I love you Aaron,” and, “please don’t die on me, Aaron.” 

Words and tears and blood and near hysteria before Grayson is pulling out a mangled bullet and dropping it into a tray next to the table. 

“Now to stop the bleeding,” Grayson says, and Robert is about to ask how he can help when the screen monitoring Aaron’s pulse starts beeping wildly before it flatlines. 

_No,_ he thinks. This was the right thing to do, bringing him here, _it was the right thing to do._ He’s not dying, he can’t die, there is no way that Robert is going to let him-

“Press this over the wound now!” Grayson shouts, jamming a clean cloth into Robert’s hand. And it’s enough to jar him out of his fear and back into the present where he presses the cloth to Aaron’s wound and watches as Grayson begins CPR. 

“Come on,” Grayson mumbles under his breath. “Come on, come on, come on.” And Robert finds himself mouthing along, his eyes latched onto where Grayson is trying to save Aaron’s life as he holds the blood, both new and old, inside Aaron’s body. 

The first beep of the monitor feels like a jolt of electricity to Robert’s chest, each subsequent beep feeling the same until Aaron’s heart falls back into a steady rhythm and Robert can breathe again. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, but when Grayson’s attention is drawn back to him, he feels more naked than he has in a long time. 

He must look a right state. He’s got blood soaked through his white t-shirt, his hair is probably standing up all over the place, and he’s got tears staining his cheeks. But he doesn’t really care about any of that, doesn’t care one little bit what Grayson thinks of him, because Aaron is still alive. 

_He didn’t let Aaron die._

And that’s the only thing that matters to him. 

~*~

“What are you doing, Robert?” Grayson asks quietly as he approaches where Robert has been sitting next to Aaron’s bed ever since the surgery, just carding his fingers through Aaron’s hair over and over again and staring at the way his chest is rising and falling in rhythm to his own. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, wetting his thumb so he can wipe a stray smear of blood off Aaron’s cheek. “All I know is that he needs my help and I’m not about to let him down.” 

“Because you love him?” 

Robert looks up at Grayson then, trying to read his face and failing miserably. 

“Yeah, because I love him.” 

Grayson smiles at him, which is not a reaction he thought he’d ever see from that man again, given the threatening and blackmailing and such. He’s smiling, though, as he looks between Aaron and Robert and says, “I knew you’d found someone. Not like you to pass up sex with me.” 

Robert snorts. “Thinking awfully high of yourself, aren’t you?” 

“Well, I did just save your boyfriend’s life.” 

It’s like a wave hitting Robert square in the chest, the pressure of it almost knocking him over as his eyes begin to water again and Grayson’s words repeat themselves in his head. 

_I did just save your boyfriend’s life._

“Thank you,” he says, his words coming out watery and weak. “I couldn’t… if he’d have…”

Grayson stops him with a hand placed firmly on his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Robert. But you can’t stay here. You know that, right?” 

“I know,” Robert says coldly. Someone tried to kill Aaron tonight. That means Leeds is no longer safe for him. But where the hell can they go? 

What is Robert supposed to do?

“You can stay here until dawn,” Grayson says as he removes his hand from Robert’s shoulder. “But then I’ve got a practice to open. I’ve given you as many painkillers and antibiotics as I can spare without suspicion, but if you can find some place with medical capabilities to take him, at least until he recuperates, he’ll be better off.” 

“Thank you,” Robert says in a way he hopes conveys just how bloody grateful he is. 

“You’re welcome. But, no offense, I hope I never see you again, yeah?” 

Robert laughs at that, still weak but a little lighter as he shakes Grayson’s hand and watches him leave the operating room. 

He watches Aaron sleep for the next little while, watches him breathe, watches him _live_ as he tries to think of a place where he could take Aaron. A place where he can be safe, looked after, where he can get everything he needs. And in the end, there’s only one option he can think of that makes sense. 

You can always go home. 

~*~

The sunrise is beautiful, especially once they get outside of Leeds. Robert had tried to clean the blood off the backseat as much as possible, but in the end he’d swiped a few blankets from the clinic to make Aaron’s makeshift bed a bit more comfortable and a pair of scrubs to make him look a bit less like a serial killer. 

After everything Grayson did for him, everything he gave them, what’s a few more blankets and some scrubs on the pile? 

He keeps the radio off while he drives, wanting as he does to be able to hear if Aaron is in any distress. But as far as he can tell, it seems like Aaron’s just sleeping. A sleep he can’t seem to naturally wake up from at the moment, but sleeping nonetheless. 

It’s more than he hoped for a few hours ago, right? 

They arrive at their destination a few hours later, most of the village still asleep in the early hours of the morning. And Robert reaches back and gives Aaron’s hand a squeeze as they pull up to the back of the clinic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hoping that Aaron can hear him. “I know this is the last place you’d want to go, but it was the only safe place I could think of. We can go as soon as you’re better, I promise, but… I’m sorry.” 

He gets out of the car, approaches the door and takes a deep breath before knocking, his nerves ratcheting so high he can feel them about to choke him. 

“Robert?” Paddy asks once he opens the door, and the way Paddy takes in his appearance with a bit of panic in his expression tells Robert that he didn’t do so well wiping off the traces of serial killer after all. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I have a friend who needs your help,” Robert starts, treading lightly around the truth, holding it close until he has to let it go. 

“Well, unless he’s a cocker spaniel,” Paddy says with one of his insufferable laughs, and for the fiftieth time at least, Robert hopes this is the right idea. 

“It’s a person, Paddy.” 

“Then I would recommend he goes to a people hospital.” 

“He can’t.” 

“Why?” 

_Here we go,_ Robert thinks. 

“Because he was shot.” 

Paddy pinballs his eyes between Robert and the back window of Robert’s car where Aaron’s head is just visible above the seat. 

“Robert, I don’t think,” Paddy starts to say, but he can’t turn back now. Neither one of them can. 

And so he says, “It’s Chas’ son, Paddy.” 

The width of Paddy’s eyes makes them look like smaller versions of the hole opening up in Robert’s stomach as he says, “It’s Aaron,” and hopes for the best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it, lads! We made it to Emmerdale! And into the last quarter of the story! Woo hoo! Also, all the medical stuff is completely without research here, so I’m sorry if it’s inaccurate. Lazy Becks is lazy. 


	21. Lies

There’s a pinprick of light, the tiniest speck surrounded by darkness, but Aaron can’t help but move towards it. His body heavy, his limbs all but useless as he drags himself through the thick mud until the light slowly starts to get bigger, brighter.

He doesn’t know what it is, what he’s moving towards. Doesn’t know where life exists here, if it’s back in the darkness or forward in the light. But Aaron really is powerless to stop his progression like something is compelling him forward. 

_Someone,_ maybe. 

That’s how he wakes up: pulled through darkness almost against his will before his eyes are suddenly just _open,_ his senses dulled as he looks at the room around him and wonders where in the hell he is.

He has to be alive. Hell wouldn’t have such soft blankets and heaven wouldn’t have so much tat.

His eyes crawl around the room, his body hurting too much to even move his neck which is why it takes him an entire sweep of his surroundings to notice the head resting on the bed near his hip. 

_Robert._

The thought is as close to a sob as thoughts can be, one that causes tears to prick in Aaron’s eyes as he lifts his arm so he can rest his hand on the crown of Robert’s head. 

He doesn’t dare hope it’s real. He’s had some pretty convincing hallucinations in his life, so even though Robert’s hair _feels_ real - feels like dozens of times when Aaron’s fingers ran through strands of gold, holding him close - he can’t bring himself to trust the sensation just yet. 

How is Robert here? Where even is _here_? And why does Robert’s head have to be turned away from him? 

If he could see his face, he’d know. He’d be able to count the freckles, trace the line of his lips. He’s watched Robert sleep enough times that even with his eyes closed, Aaron would be able to tell if it was him, if he was _real,_ if only he could look at him, just once. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” a startled voice reaches his ears from somewhere near the door, making Aaron flinch in a way he feels all the way to his toes. 

Aaron looks up to see a man standing there, portly, with a bald head and wire-frame glasses pinched to his face. 

His cheeks are a little ruddy, like he’s embarrassed to be here. And Aaron doesn't know him from Adam but for some reason, he doesn’t feel threatened. Not with Robert lying next to him, not with Robert’s hair twisted in his fingers. 

“Who are you?” Aaron asks, and it’s meant to sound like an accusation, but his voice is so rough from disuse it sounds more like a frog’s croak than anything. 

So much for being threatening. 

“I’m Paddy,” the man says with a cheerful smile. “A friend of your… Robert. A friend of your Robert’s.” 

Aaron looks this Paddy up and down, takes in the pink polo shirt and green vest, the loose jeans and faded work boots, and he can’t, for the life of him, imagine how this bloke could be friends with Robert. 

That part doesn’t matter right now, though. Robert clearly brought Aaron here for a reason, one he’d really like to ask Robert about as soon as he wakes up. But if Robert trusts this Paddy, Aaron should probably try to as well. 

It’s why his voice is less accusatory when he asks, “Where am I?” 

“Some place safe,” Paddy offers. And yeah, that’s not gonna cut it. It’s why Aaron pushes. 

The word, “Where,” coming out with a little more bite as he sits up, regretting it immediately when his head begins to slosh from the movement. 

“You’re at my cottage. In Bridlington,” Paddy says a bit stiffly, and Aaron thinks, _was that so hard,_ because obviously it _was._ Why, though? 

He doesn’t really have the head space to worry about that as he cards his fingers through Robert’s hair and asks, “Is he alright?” 

“He’s fine. I just put a little nip of something in his tea last night, make sure he got some good kip.” 

Aaron’s eyes must look horrified when he looks back at Paddy because Paddy’s hands immediately fly up into the air in a defensive stance. 

“He hasn’t been sleeping. You’ve been out a couple of days and he’s spent every night - and day, really - sitting there watching you, waiting for you, I’d imagine. I didn’t want him to keel over, give me one more patient to deal with, so I made sure he got at least a few hours of sleep before he completely collapsed.” 

It makes sense to Aaron that Robert would be like that. If Robert were the one in the coma - was he in a coma? - Aaron wouldn’t want to shut his eyes for a minute either. Not that he likes Robert being drugged by a practical stranger, mind, but he _gets it._

“So you did this?” Aaron asks, motioning at the general area of the bandage he can feel taped to his skin, covering the bullet wound that probably should’ve killed him. 

“Oh no!” Paddy responds with an honest to god _giggle._ “You were like that when you got here. I’m a vet.” 

“And you’re drugging my boyfriend?” Aaron asks incredulously, his eyes squinting down defensively as he stares across the room. 

“Well I figured he weighed more than a dog but less than a cow.” 

Aaron stares at him for a few seconds before Paddy starts laughing, a bit less _giggle_ this time and a bit more _guffaw_ like he’s just made a joke that he’s more or less in love with. 

“Great measuring,” Aaron grumbles as he stretches his arm to palm the center of Robert’s back, make sure he’s still breathing. And even though it hurts like hell to move that much, it’s worth it for the reassurance that Robert is still very much alive. 

“What about the clothes?” he asks, looking down at the jumper that’s very much not his, and very much hideous. Almost an exact match to the one on Robert’s back. 

“I picked those up for the pair of ya. Yours were a little… bloody.” 

Paddy pauses, waits for Aaron to meet his eye again before he looks away and jokes, “I’m sorry if the size is off. I lost my measuring tape.” 

Aaron just continues looking at him, waiting for Paddy’s eyes to return to his this time before Paddy adds, “It was a joke.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Paddy clears his throat nervously. “How are you feeling then? Alive?” 

“Barely,” Aaron groans as he tries to resituate himself on the bed while still keeping his fingers in Robert’s hair. “But still… better than I thought I’d be.”

“Well just rest,” Paddy says kindly. Too kindly, maybe, but that’s another thing Aaron doesn’t want to analyze right now. “I’ll get you some water and some more pillows. Keeping yourself elevated will keep the blood flowing properly.” 

“You’re just making that up, aren’t you?” Aaron asks, and he’s surprised by the fact that his lips are lifted into the smallest fraction of a smile right now. 

“No, why would you think that, okay yes I’m making it up, but more pillows never hurt anyone, did they? I mean, have you ever heard someone say, ‘Oh no, please, that’s too many pillows’? That would just be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? That’d be like asking for _less_ biscuits, or less tea. No one in their right mind-”

“Paddy,” Aaron says, hard enough to get Paddy to stop but soft enough so as not to offend. 

Paddy blinks at him a few times, his face the picture of confusion. 

“You said something about water?” 

“Right! Water. I’ll get that straight away. And you just rest. I mean it. And don’t worry about ‘im,” he says, pointing at where Robert is still out cold, sat next to the bed and leaning his head on the mattress like he couldn’t stand being any further from Aaron. 

“He’ll be right as rain when he wakes up.” 

Paddy nods his head awkwardly and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. And for the first time since he woke up, Aaron just breathes. 

He’s alive. The last thing he remembers is calling Robert, and in that moment, he very much thought that he was gonna die. That Robert wouldn’t get to him in time, that after everything he said Robert wouldn’t come _at all,_ and that he would die on that warehouse floor cold and alone. 

Look where he is now. He’s in a bed (strange), in a box room with no windows (also strange) in Bridlington of all places (even stranger) with a man named Paddy playing nursemaid who’s supposedly good enough mates with Robert to take in a gunshot victim without another word (strangest of all). 

The one Aaron is gonna focus on is the original one, though. The fact that he’s _alive._ That he’s alive and Robert is alive and Robert is _here,_ even if he’s a bit dead to the world at the moment. That’s what matters. 

That’s the _only_ thing that matters. 

~*~

Aaron’s dozing when he feels Robert start to stir. It’s been a few hours since his conversation with Paddy, since he came through on his promise of water and pillows, along with pain meds and a bland sarnie, fussing about Aaron for almost ten minutes until the pillows were at “peak comfort level.” And in that time, Aaron had simply drifted in and out of a tenuous consciousness. 

He never let himself get too deep, yanking himself back every time he felt the darkness start to take hold. Half because he didn’t want to go back there and half because he wanted to be here when Robert woke up. 

He’s stirring now, though, twisting his head and rubbing his face into the mattress like a sleepy baby, groaning so loud it makes Aaron smile before he’s turning to look up at Aaron, looking right back at him. 

“Hi,” Robert sighs, and as far as _oh thank god you’re alive_ moments go, this one is already shaping up to be pretty disappointing. 

Aaron just laughs at that, ignoring the way it makes his side ache as he says, “Hiya.” 

“Where are we?” Robert asks, and that just makes Aaron laugh more. Because clearly, Robert has no idea what’s going on here. 

_I was more coherent when I woke from a days long coma thingy,_ Aaron thinks to himself as he says, “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking questions like that.” 

Robert’s eyes narrow in confusion before something finally clicks and he sits bolt upright in his chair, groaning at some pain in his head, judging by the way he clasps his hand to the side of it. His voice desperate and more like what Aaron was expecting when he grabs Aaron’s hand and says, “You’re awake! You’re alive! You’re… you’re awake!” 

Aaron goes to talk, to confirm all of Robert’s claims, but Robert just keeps yammering. His voice so excited Aaron has no choice but to smile at him when he says, “Do you need anything? Water? More pillows? I could… I could get you some food maybe? Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten in days. You must be starved. What can I-”

“Robert,” Aaron says softly, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “Relax. Paddy took care of all that.” 

Robert’s eyes cloud over with something Aaron can’t place. “You spoke with Paddy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What did he say?” 

Aaron shrugs, which also causes more pain than a simple shrug should, stupid bloody gunshot wound. “Nothing much. Just that we’re in Bridlington and I’m here to rest.”

“Of course,” Robert mutters under his breath before dragging his hand down his face. 

“What else would he say?” Aaron asks suspiciously, but Robert just shakes his head at him and breaks into a brilliant, blinding smile before kissing Aaron’s hand and saying, “Nothing. It’s not important. How are you feeling? That’s all I care about.” 

Aaron risks the pain of movement to pull Robert’s hand to his mouth, give it a quick kiss before dropping their joined hands to his side and saying, “Groggy. Tired. Achy. Not looking forward to when my pain medication wears off.” 

Robert laughs at that, something desperate and grateful as he says, “Groggy, tired, achy? Sounds like you’ve got your very own set of dwarves there.”

Aaron looks at him pointedly. 

“Sorry, I’m just so happy you’re awake. You’re going to have to excuse a few terrible jokes. I’ve been… Aaron, I’ve been worried to death.” 

Aaron nods, because he can totally imagine, then asks, “What happened?”

Robert’s voice sobers. “You don’t remember?” 

“I remember getting shot,” he says slowly, squirming slightly to try and alleviate the burning ache in his side. “And calling you, I think.” 

Robert winces, apparently at the memory. 

“But that’s it. The rest is just…”

_Just black,_ he thinks, as he shivers at the all-encompassing darkness he’d been buried in before waking. 

“You did call me,” Robert replies, his voice low, pained almost as he no doubt goes back to that night as well. “I got there as fast as I could, and when I did, you were…”

He trails off, staring at where their hands are still entwined before shivering and looking Aaron in the eye once again. 

“You said you didn’t want an ambulance.”

“And you listened?” Aaron asks if only to wipe that look off Robert’s face, the one that says he’s watching Aaron nearly die all over again. 

“What? I listen to you.” 

Aaron gives him another pointed look. 

“Sometimes,” Robert amends. “You seemed pretty adamant about this one, so I took a shot and tried for the next best thing.” 

“Which was?” 

Robert looks down almost like he’s ashamed and mumbles, “I took you to Grayson’s clinic.” 

“Your ex is the one who saved me?” 

Robert rolls his eyes at that. “He’s not my ex, but yes, he is the one who saved your life.” 

Aaron tries to sit up straighter, look a little more self-assured, but the movement causes his side to scream in pain. He bites it down, though, refuses to let Robert see it as he says, “Robert, he’s a drug addict.” 

Robert pulls his posture up the way Aaron had wanted to. “He’s also a surgeon with trauma experience and an abundance of discretion. Beggars can’t be choosers, Aaron. You want I should’ve left you there? It was either that, death, or cuffs and a life sentence. Which would you have picked?” 

“You’re right,” Aaron says as quietly as he can while still being heard. 

“Come again?” 

Aaron squints at Robert and grimaces. “You heard me.” 

“No, I don’t think I did. Because it sounded an awful lot like you, _Aaron Livesy,_ told me, _Robert Sugden,_ that I was right.”

“Oh, pull the other one, Robert. Just tell me the rest.” 

“The rest of what?” he asks, genuinely confused. 

“The night, what happened, _the rest,_ right?” 

“You mean your dead co-worker?” Robert asks. And that’s not exactly what he meant, but it does answer one question. 

Emile really is dead. Aaron really did kill him. 

Aaron nods weakly, all of a sudden feeling like he could sleep for months, and Robert just squeezes his hand harder. 

“I’m sorry. Were you… mates?” 

“Maybe,” Aaron says quietly. “Sort of.”

“But?” 

Aaron shrugs. “But he turned on me. Liam offered him a better deal and I was part of the bargain.” 

“You’re going to have to run that by me again,” Robert says, anger already building in his voice. And there’s no sense being dishonest now, is there? 

“I was trying to broker a deal with Emile. The specifics aren’t important. All you need to know is that Liam offered him a better one, and my death…”

“What?” Robert spits out. “Sweetened the pot? I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s already dead,” Aaron responds, the words like acid in his mouth, taunting him - _you killed someone you killed someone you killed someone._

“What?” Robert asks. “No, I meant Liam.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him,” Aaron says as levelly as he can, trying to put a little bit of a threat into his voice because there is no reality in which Robert walks away from a run-in with Liam. 

“Your own brother tried to kill you, Aaron. I mean, I thought Andy was bad, but this? He wanted you _dead_ and you’re just going to what? Let it drop?” 

“What I do about it is _my_ business, got it? I don’t need you sticking your oar in where it doesn’t belong.” 

Robert tries to stare him down, to win the argument with just his gaze. But he gives up, his entire body sagging with the admission as he pulls Aaron’s hand to his lips again and holds it there for a few long seconds. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Robert asks eventually, his voice reverting back to the scared child he was earlier. 

Aaron just nods. 

“Why did you call me? Not that I’m complaining, I just thought Cal or even Meg would be your first choices.”

Aaron thinks for a minute, tries to put himself back on that cement floor, in the mindset that told him to call Robert, only Robert, always Robert. 

“Cal’s been a little… off lately,” Aaron admits. 

“Ireland didn’t go so well?” 

He shrugs. “I didn’t know if I could trust him.” He looks up at Robert at that, takes in the way his entire expression has changed to something almost smug before adding, “Try not to look so pleased by that.”

“I’m not,” Robert tries, but when Aaron just gives him a _look,_ he changes tracks. “That’s a lie, I suppose. But we’ll worry about that later, yeah? What about Meg?” 

Aaron shrugs again. “What was Meg gonna do? Call her dad? Which woulda brought me right back to ground zero.” 

“So I’m like,” Robert starts, his grin getting wider the longer he speaks like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, “your most trusted confidante?” 

“Jesus, I hate you sometimes,” Aaron groans. 

But Robert just laughs at him. “No you don’t. You love me, really.” 

It’s like the oxygen in the room itself freezes with Robert’s words, time and everything just stopping suddenly before Robert says, “Look, I mean… I didn’t mean that. I meant-”

“Robert,” Aaron interrupts. 

“Yeah?” 

He swallows hard once, takes a deep breath before saying, “I have to go back.” 

Robert drops his hand for the first time since he woke up, and then he gets up from his seat, stalks to the other side of the room and begins pacing. Which really is about the best Aaron coulda hoped for. 

“Can’t I have at least one week where I don’t have to worry about you dying?” Robert asks, turning on him and pointing a single accusatory finger in his direction. 

“He’s not gonna let me go, Robert,” he says, the simplest way of explaining this to him in a way Robert will understand. Because Aaron doesn’t even understand the pull to go back. How after everything that’s happened, he still can’t bear the idea of being away from Cal, from that life. 

But Robert will never understand that, so Aaron says, “He’ll find me, and then he’ll kill you,” because even if he can’t allow himself to believe Cal would do something like that, Robert _does_ believe it. And maybe it’ll be enough to convince him to let him go. 

“We’re safe here, I promise,” Robert all but begs, his eyes pleading with Aaron even more than his words. 

“So what? We’re just gonna live in some seaside village with your weird friend for the rest of our lives?”

“Why not?!” Robert asks as he flings his arms in the air. 

Aaron leans forward, feeling an uncomfortable pull in his side that makes everything in the left half of his body burn as he says, “Because it’s not bloody realistic. He’s not just gonna let me go. And besides, Liam tried to kill me. I have to warn Cal.” 

Robert makes an unattractive _pfft_ sound and says dismissively, “I’m sure Cal can take care of himself.”

Aaron leans back again, runs his hand over his face, back through his hair, before saying weakly, “They’re my family, Robert.” 

“No! They’re your jailers, Aaron.” 

Silence settles over them again, filling up the space around them like a balloon that shatters when Robert says, “If you think I’m going to let you leave, you’re crazier than I thought.” 

“Rob-”

“No, you listen to me,” he snaps, taking a few steps before resting his palms on the end of Aaron’s bed. “You almost died. _In my arms._ I’ll cuff you to the flaming bed if I have to, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Kinky,” Aaron responds because for some reason, he thinks that’ll help diffuse the situation. 

“Please don’t joke about this, Aaron. You don’t get to joke until I’m the one bleeding to death and you’re the one panicking over what to do about it. I almost lost you - on that floor and then again in that operating room. I can’t do it again.” 

_And I don’t wanna lose you,_ Aaron thinks. And if there’s even a chance that Cal might come good on his threats, Aaron needs to take that seriously. Needs to do everything in his power to prevent it. 

He’s not gonna get anywhere with Robert right now, though. Hell, he probably won’t get anywhere with him _ever._ So he’s just gotta heal up, get his strength back, and then sneak away when Robert isn’t looking. Simple as. 

“Come here,” Aaron says softly, suddenly overcome with the need to have Robert beside him, in his arms, _close._

But Robert’s response is a petulant little, “No,” that makes Aaron have to bite back a smile so as not to antagonize him anymore. 

“Please?” he asks. 

Robert stands up straight and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I’m still mad at you.” 

“Robert, I need you right now, okay? Can’t we just… forget the rest for a little while? Please?” 

Robert studies him for a few long moments, evidently looking for some sign of a trap before he gives into what he must be feeling as well: The overpowering need to just _be together._

He makes his way along the side of the bed, going to sit back in his chair before Aaron scoots over and makes room for him on the double bed that’s sandwiched into the box room. 

“But your wound,” Robert says shakily. But even though the meds are starting to wear off, even though Aaron’s entire body feels like it’s on fire, he doesn’t care. He needs Robert more than he needs pain relief right now. 

“I feel fine. Meds are doing the trick,” he lies as he lifts up the blankets and invites Robert in. And with a soft little nod, Robert accepts the invitation. 

He’s gentle as he curls up to Aaron’s good side, letting Aaron wrap his arm around his back and hold him as close as he can manage. And for the first time in at least a week, Aaron feels like he’s at home. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before kissing the top of Robert’s head. 

“For what? It’s not like you shot yourself.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Aaron elaborates, and Robert uses that as an excuse to snuggle deeper into his side. 

“Yeah, well, promise me you’ll never almost die on me again and I’ll think about forgiving you.” 

“Robert, you know I can’t-”

“Aaron,” Robert says breathlessly as he tips his head up to look Aaron in the eye. “Just lie to me, okay? Please?” 

Aaron nods, placing a kiss to Robert’s forehead before saying, “I promise I’ll never almost die on you again.” 

Of all the lies Aaron has told Robert, for some reason that one is the hardest. 

~*~

Paddy hooked a small telly and a blu ray up in the box room, and Aaron’s got it stuck in his head that Robert sourced the film selections because there’s _no way_ Paddy owns a copy of _Thor: Ragnarok._

Aaron doesn’t mind so much. Mostly because Robert is sitting next to him, t-shirt clad and skin to skin, his feet stuck out and constantly bumping against Aaron’s, waking him every time the pain meds start to make him slip away. 

He still doesn’t want to sleep. His mind hasn’t been a great place, as evidenced by the daymares of Robert’s death he’d been having prior to, during, and after Ireland. But the darkness is almost scarier, like he’s afraid if he slips into it for too long, he won’t be able to come back out again. 

It’s dumb. He knows he’s alive, knows he’s on the mend. But he’d come to terms with dying, had accepted it in his own way, and it’s that acceptance that haunts him every time he tries to sleep. 

_You wanted it,_ it says. _You wanted to go and never come back, just like all those years ago._

The time where the cuts went a little deeper than normal. 

The day he promised Meg from a hospital bed that he’d never do it again. 

“Want another?” Robert asks, offering the now half-empty tin of biscuits to Aaron, his words a jumble because of the biscuit still stuffed in his mouth. 

“How many of these have you had?” he asks, picking one up and taking a bite because he knows Robert wants him to. He’s been trying to fatten Aaron up ever since he woke up. 

Robert shrugs and makes a sound like, “I-uh-no,” while digging into another before he even finishes the first. 

So Robert’s got a sweet tooth. Apparently there are still things Aaron can learn about him. 

“You look knackered,” Robert says a second later, his face concerned as he feels Aaron for a fever for the millionth time. “You want I should turn the film off? We could always finish it tomorrow.” 

“No, just,” Aaron starts to say before lowering himself so he can pillow his head on Robert’s lap. “Just let it go.” 

“But if you fall asleep, you’ll miss all the good bits,” Robert replies with more concern than anyone should have over a Marvel film. 

It’s endearing. 

Aaron hates it. 

“I guess that just means you’ll have to tell me about it in the morning,” he says through a yawn as he wiggles closer to Robert, desperate for his warmth. 

“You know I love a good nutshell,” Robert replies, and Aaron can’t see the smile, but he can hear it, draped all over Robert’s face. 

Hopefully it’s enough to keep the monsters at bay.

~*~

It isn’t. The darkness comes like it has been for days, slipping in like ink, tar, like _death_ itself. And no matter how hard Aaron tries to run, how far he goes, it follows him, right on his heels until, at the very end, it catches him. 

When he’s dragged down, he always thinks of Robert. Of what his death will do to _Robert._ Not Meg. Not Cal. Robert, Robert, _Robert._ And he hates himself a little for that because in the end, he’s gonna have to leave Robert anyway. 

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t wanna sleep. Because he knows, deep down, that each day that ends is one less they’ll have together. And Aaron wants to horde every minute he can get. 

~*~

It’s his first shower in probably two weeks, if Aaron’s got the days right. And he supposes that he should feel lucky that Robert’s been willing to be so close to him, given how much he must stink. But all he’s worried about right now is how he’s going to both _stand up_ and _clean himself_ at the same time. 

When Robert slips into the loo behind him, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you do this without me, did you?” Robert asks cheekily as his gaze slips down Aaron’s body, something he hasn’t seen not attached to worry in too long. 

“I can shower by meself,” Aaron says back gruffly, even though two seconds ago he was thinking about giving up altogether and accepting one of Paddy’s sponge bath offers. 

“We do it with the animals all the time when their legs are broken!” Paddy had said, and Aaron had thrown up a little in his mouth. 

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” Robert counters. “Besides, with the way you stink, it’s going to take four hands easy to scrub all the grime off. Unless you want me to get Paddy…”

“No!” Aaron says through a laugh as he grabs for Robert’s arm and tugs him closer. “I think you’ll do just fine.” 

Robert beams at him before leaning forward and pecking his lips, the closest he’ll allow them to come to intimacy lately, which is both comforting and maddening to Aaron, depending on the day. 

“You need help getting out of your clothes?” 

Aaron wants to say no, wants to tell Robert he can do it himself, that he’s not an invalid. Except just the thought of bending over to remove his trousers is making him break out in a cold sweat. So he just nods his head and looks away. 

“Hey,” Robert says softly, grabbing Aaron’s chin and twisting it so they’re looking at each other again. “You got _shot,_ Aaron. There’s no shame in needing a bit of help.” 

Aaron wants to say something smart, something cutting, but he just nods his head again. Because the sooner they get this started, the sooner they can get it over with. 

Robert is so soft in the way he undresses Aaron. It’s a far cry from the old days, when Robert would practically tear his clothes in his haste to get Aaron naked. But here, he’s gentle, sliding his trousers down slowly, lifting each foot out of them like Aaron is made of glass. And all of a sudden he feels his eyes start to water. 

He bites the inside of his cheek hard, wills himself to concentrate on the pain still radiating out from his stomach, anything to keep him from crying here like some infant. And so by the time Robert has gotten back to his feet, Aaron’s eyes are about as dry as they’re gonna get. 

“Ready for this?” Robert asks as he grips the hem of Aaron’s t-shirt. The same one he’s been wearing since he got here. 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he says, and then he lifts his hands in the air. 

Robert does this part quick, which is a bloody good thing given how much pain the movement causes. But then it’s over, Aaron is naked, and Robert is standing in front of him, fully clothed. 

It’s weird, is what it is. 

“Let me just turn on the shower then I’ll… um….” Robert says awkwardly, gesturing at his own clothes. And when did they become these people? Shy like flaming virgins when, sexually, they’ve done pretty much every single thing that’s possible for people to do. 

_I want you,_ he thinks, and he almost says it. But there’d be no point in it. Aaron is too damaged to do much of anything right now. 

The water feels good on his skin, warm and smooth as Robert begins to lather him with soap. 

“This was the only option,” Robert grumbles. “I’m sorry you’re going to smell like a butch woodsman.” 

“It’s smelled pretty good on you,” Aaron hums before shutting his eyes and putting his head back under the spray. Ducking back out again to add, “I like your old stuff better, though. Smells like… like you.” 

Robert’s hands still on him for a second, squeezing his shoulders before they continue to spread the soap all around Aaron’s body. 

“I’m going to do your hair now, okay?” he asks, getting just a nod from Aaron before he puts some shampoo on his palm and begins to lather it into Aaron’s hair. 

He could get used to this, being taken care of like this. As long as Robert’s the one doing the caring, of course. 

Instead of turning around so Robert can get the back of his head, Aaron just tips his head down. Which is when he sees it. The pretty real evidence that this whole experience is affecting Robert way more than he’s letting on. 

He should do something about it, Aaron thinks, and he’s about to reach out a hand when Robert actually slaps it away. 

“Oi! None of that, okay? This shower is about washing the stench off of ya, nothing more.” 

“But you’ve been so good to me,” Aaron says quietly as he continues to stare down at Robert. 

Robert tips his head up almost roughly. “And you’ve rewarded me by allowing me to stay in your life. That’s where it ends. I thought we were past this, Aaron.” 

“Past what?” he asks, genuinely confused. 

“Ya know, the thing you do where you think you owe me sex just because I’m nice to ya.”

Aaron’s mouth drops open wide in shock. 

“I noticed,” Robert says almost shamefully, which is weird because if either of them should be ashamed, it’s Aaron. 

“Probably later than I should’ve, mind, but I _noticed._ And we’re not doing that anymore. We’re not trading sex for anything… except maybe birthday presents if you can’t find anything better. Because I’m notoriously difficult to shop for. But just that, okay?” 

Aaron barks out a surprised laugh at the way Robert can tug his emotions back from the brink like that, make him laugh when all he wants to do is curl up into a ball. And if he didn’t know it before, he knows it now. 

He loves him. 

Fuck him, he’s in love with Robert Sugden. 

“You alright there?” Robert asks before beginning to rinse Aaron’s hair out. “You got quiet on me all of a sudden.” 

“M’good,” Aaron says before swallowing. Then swallowing again. Then swallowing _again_ because he doesn’t know what to do with himself right now. Where to put his arms, where to look, _how to feel_ now that he’s being rushed by emotions he never thought he’d truly feel. Never experienced. Never _expected._

He loves Robert. 

They make it back to their bed eventually - _their_ bed, not Robert’s, not Aaron’s, but _theirs._ And Robert helps him get dressed again in some fresh clothes clearly picked out by Paddy as well, given all the quilting. 

He does the bandage again before he slips Aaron into a soft jumper in this horrific brick color. And then they curl into bed together, the same way they used to back when they stayed at Robert’s flat, with Robert’s heart pumping steadily beneath his ear. 

Aaron loves him. He _really fucking loves him._ Which just means that as soon as he’s better, he’s gonna have to break _both_ their hearts. 

~*~

Paddy has a dog named Clyde. Clyde isn’t allowed upstairs, which is why Aaron hasn’t met him until tonight, when Aaron finally feels ready to brave the staircase. But the minute Aaron sees Clyde, he wishes he were his. 

Clyde seems to be of the same mind.

He follows Aaron around all night, from the telly, where he sits on the couch next to Aaron with his head in Aaron’s lap, to the dining table, where he… well, where he basically does the same thing, all the way to the staircase, where he whines as he watches Aaron take the first couple steps. 

Aaron looks to where Paddy is finishing cleaning up tea and makes a face he reckons is about as sad as Clyde’s whine. But Paddy still shakes his head firmly. 

“We’ll work on him,” Aaron whispers as he leans over to pet Clyde’s head one last time before bed. And, seemingly satisfied with Aaron’s promise, the dog pads quietly away. 

“You seem to have a new admirer,” Robert says as he closes the door to their room. “Should I be jealous?” 

Aaron doesn’t answer him. He just slowly walks him back into the door, grabs his face, and kisses him like his life depends on it.

“Woah,” Robert gasps as he pulls out of the kiss, his hands firmly gripped over Aaron’s hips. “I’m not sure if you should be doing this, Aaron. You’re still frag-”

“Robert, if you finish that word I’m never having sex with you again,” Aaron warns, his hand placed tightly over Robert’s mouth to keep him from calling Aaron fragile. 

Robert nods, so Aaron lets him speak. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay for this, that’s all,” he says, but even though his words are hesitant, the way his hands have crept up under Aaron’s jumper is anything but. 

“I want you,” Aaron says shyly, the words feeling funny in his mouth, after all this time. “But if you don’t want-”

Robert slaps his hand over Aaron’s mouth and smiles. 

“Aaron, if you finish that sentence I’m never having sex with you again. I want you, too. I wanted you before, I want you now, and I’ll want you after. So if you’re sure you’re okay for this…”

Robert waits for Aaron to nod before uncovering his mouth. 

“Well then who am I to argue?” he finishes before winking at Aaron and disappearing into his jumper, coming out the other side with pink cheeks and a filthy smile.

It’s a good look on him. 

They take it slow, especially where Aaron’s body is concerned. His clothes are shed just as gently as they were the other day, goosebumps prickling his skin as Robert undresses him like he might break if he touches him too hard. And normally, that kind of care would get under Aaron’s skin, make it crawl over his bones, but now? 

Now it just makes him love Robert all the more. 

“Now, I don’t want you to think that this was me trying to pressure you into anything,” Robert says breathlessly as Aaron works that spot below his hip. “But I found these in Paddy’s bathroom cupboard the other day and I thought… well, _hoped_ they might come in handy at some point.”

He reaches into the side table at that, pulls out a few condoms and a tube of lube and tosses them onto the bed next to Aaron. 

“Always be prepared, eh?” Aaron asks with a laugh, and the way Robert’s eyes darken when he looks at him… it’s sinful, is what it is. 

“Would it be easier for you to bottom or top?” Robert asks after they spend another fifteen minutes or so just snogging their brains out. “I could ride you, if you’d like? Or spoon you? I’m really not fussed.” 

Aaron laughs again. “Really not fussed, eh? Well that’s big of you.” 

“You know what I mean,” Robert replies in a scandalized tone as he smacks Aaron on the side of his arm. “I just want you to be comfortable.” 

A memory washes over him then, his ribs broken, his body bruised, and Robert wanting nothing more than for him to be okay. 

_Fuck_ he is so fucking _in love_ with this stupid idiot. 

But as soon as he’s better…

“I want you in me,” Aaron says softly, the words spoken right into Robert’s mouth. He wants to recreate that memory, wants to feel Robert moving inside him one last time because that’s what this is, isn’t it? 

This might be the last time they’re ever together. 

Robert slips carefully over him so Aaron doesn’t have to roll over onto his bad side, his movements agile, gentle, a perfect representation of everything Robert has ever been for him. 

He doesn’t want to let him go. 

He _has to let him go._

There’s no other choice. 

“You tell me if this hurts you, even for a second, yeah?” Robert asks from behind him as one cool, slick finger circles Aaron’s hole. 

“I will,” Aaron croaks out, smothering his emotion in a cough. “I trust you.” 

He does. 

He really fucking _does._

Robert opens him slowly, methodically, every movement perfectly geared to drive Aaron crazy. And he wants it fast, wants it _hard,_ wants to fall back into all those habits he was hoping he’d left behind. But maybe this is better. Maybe it’s a good thing that his injuries make it so that they have to be _this_ way. Because this way, he gets to feel every single inch of Robert. 

It’ll never be enough. But for tonight, it’ll have to do. 

When Robert slides into him, Aaron’s vision goes black. But it’s not like the darkness of the nightmares, the one that tries to pull him under. This time it’s peaceful, warm, welcoming. And Aaron can’t help the way he groans as Robert pulls out then presses inside him once again. 

He rocks into him slowly, and by the fifth thrust he’s already found Aaron’s prostate. A target for him, if he knows Robert at all. One he hits with pinpoint accuracy over and over and over again as Aaron loses all sense of time and place. 

_I want to stay,_ he thinks. _I wish I could just_ **_stay._ **

But he knows he can’t. This isn’t his life. Robert isn’t _his,_ he never was. And the sooner Aaron course corrects, the sooner he goes back to Leeds, back _home,_ the better off Robert will be. 

For now, though, he has this. Another stolen moment in a sea of them, Robert’s body slick with sweat behind him, gently shifting inside of him, drawing out his orgasm to impossible lengths before everything goes white and Aaron is coming in the sheets. 

Robert bites the bend of his neck, comes into the condom, and for a few minutes, they just lie there, coming down, wrapped up in a perfect little bow like that’s something Aaron gets to have. 

It’s not, but for right now, it’ll have to do. 

~*~

He’s going home today. He’d swiped Robert’s phone the night before while he was sleeping and looked up buses back to Leeds. There’s a station somewhere in Bridlington, hopefully not far from Paddy’s house. And once Aaron finds it he can just… go. 

He had to nick bus fare from Robert’s wallet. He left everything back in the warehouse - wallet, phone, you name it, which hopefully Cal cleaned up before the police found it. Otherwise there’ll be a posse waiting for Aaron when he gets home. 

He’s a man without a single thing of his own right now, though, wearing borrowed clothes, using stolen money, and more than anything he wants to take Robert with him. 

_Something old,_ he thinks. _Something new. Something borrowed…_

He needs a walk to clear his head, that’s all. Find the lay of the land, and then… then he’ll do it… later. He’ll leave _later,_ he will. Once he has a more solid plan. 

Right. 

Robert is in the shower now, which means it’s the perfect time to do it. When he goes to open the front door, though, Paddy comes flying from out of nowhere and wedges himself between Aaron and the door. 

“What are you doing, Paddy?” Aaron asks. 

“What are _you_ doing, Aaron?” Paddy just shoots back. Which is so helpful. 

“I thought I’d go for a walk, seeing as how I’m feeling better. So if you’ll just excuse me…”

He lets his sentence trail off, leaving Paddy to fill in the _get the hell out of my way_ blanks. But Paddy just stands firm. Literally. His body like a brick wall blocking Aaron from escape. 

“I just wanted to take Clyde out,” Aaron tries instead, reaching for Clyde’s lead and hoping that he’ll be able to remove Paddy without any sort of force. 

“He could pull on your stitches.” 

“Fine, then I’ll go alone.” 

“You really should ask Robert,” Paddy says almost desperately, and this is just getting weird. Too weird for Aaron to be able to stand.

Which is why his voice is more bitter than he’d like it to be, given how good Paddy has been to him, when he says, “What is he, my doctor? Would you just get out of my way already?” 

“What’s going on?” Robert asks, his tone panicked as he runs down the stairs in just his boxers. 

Paddy answers before Aaron can. “Aaron wanted to go for a walk.” 

“Do you really think you’re up for that?” Robert asks with a little nervous laugh that makes every inch of Aaron’s body feel electric with fear. 

“Do you really think you’re the boss of me?” he counters. “Why can’t I go outside? There some kind of atmospheric poison out there or summat?” 

Paddy and Robert laugh at him in unison, twin sounds of nerves and panic. And Aaron is done with this sci-fi rubbish. He’s going outside if it’s the last thing he does. 

So he shoves Paddy, feels the strain in his side but deals with it as he shoves him again, gets him out of the way of the door just enough for him to open it and slip out. 

The sun practically blinds him once he’s out there. It’s why he can’t see where he is at first. But when his eyes finally start to adjust, his heartbeat kicks up so fast he thinks he’s having a heart attack. 

The buildings look… familiar. The shape of them, the colour. And then his gaze lands on the one just across the street. 

The Woolpack. 

He opens the door quickly, dives back inside and slams the door behind him. And his anger is so heavy that at first, he can’t even speak. The anxiety doing a number on him as well as he stands there, struggling to breathe. 

He hears Robert say something in the background, something about Paddy giving them a minute. But his ears are all plugged, his vision blurring as his fingers start to shake at his sides.

He balls them into fists, half because he wants them to stop trembling and half because he really wants to deck Robert right now as the word, “Bridlington,” manages to slip past his suddenly very dry lips. 

“Before you kick off, just listen to me for a second, okay?” Robert asks as he approaches Aaron, hands out like he’s dealing with a dangerous tiger. 

He’s not far off. 

“Bridlington,” Aaron repeats, the word stuck in his head on repeat, a broken flaming record that he can’t seem to turn off as tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes because Robert said they were in _Bridlington,_ only they’re not. They’re in… they’re in…

“Okay, so maybe we’re not in Bridlington.”

“Maybe?!” Aaron shouts, the word forced through the anger and panic currently destroying his equilibrium. “I can’t believe you brought me here against my will!” 

“You had no will, remember?” Robert replies stubbornly. “You were basically dead.”

Aaron laughs. “And that gives you the right to take me _here,_ to this place? To… to…”

_Emmerdale,_ his mind finally supplies, and like his body can’t hold on any longer, he falls to his knees. His side screaming in pain as he tries and fails to breathe like a normal person. His fingers curling into his wound in the hopes that the pain will ground him, stop the world from spinning. 

Robert follows him to the ground, rests his hand over Aaron’s chest and says soothingly, “Just breathe Aaron, okay? Just breathe.”

He pushes Robert away so forcefully he falls back onto his arse. “You think… think I don’t know… how… how to deal with… with a panic attack?” 

Each word is like a dagger in his throat as he finds a place on the floor to focus on, his attention zeroing in on that and that alone as he reaches out with his mind and feels each part of his body. 

His legs, resting on the wood. His arms, wrapped around his stomach. His eyes… crying. Like a fucking baby. His breath… his breath…

“You lied to me,” he says because even though he’s not in control, he still wants Robert to know how much he’s hurt him by doing this. 

“It was only temporary,” Robert replies, scrambling to his knees again in front of Aaron only this time he knows enough not to touch. 

“I was going to tell you as soon as you were better.” 

“Why here?” he says, but what he really means is _why did it_ **_have to be_ ** _here?_

“Where else was I supposed to bring you?” Robert asks, his voice so panicked as well that Aaron would feel sorry for him if this weren’t entirely his fault. 

“You killed someone, Aaron. You almost died. This was the only safe place I could think of apart from plonking you down in some hotel and hoping the meds didn’t run out before the pain killed you. I needed to get you _safe._ That was my top… no my _only_ priority. When you were better, then we could figure out how to get out of this goddamn mess we’re in.”

“I’m in,” Aaron snaps. But Robert just grabs his shoulders, shaking him a little before saying, “No, _we’re_ in.”

“So who’s Paddy then?” Aaron asks once the panic starts to subside a bit, ignoring Robert’s little declaration of solidarity because he’s leaving, isn’t he? So really there is no _we._ There never was. 

“He’s the village vet, just like I said.” 

“And?” Aaron asks because he knows there’s something else there. The way Robert can’t look him in the eye right now is a dead giveaway. 

“And a friend of your mum’s,” he mumbles under his breath. 

To say that Aaron loses it would be vastly underselling his reaction. He flat out _explodes,_ forgetting all about his panic attack as he gets to his feet and positively roars, “Robert!” like screaming his name is gonna fix anything. 

“She knows I’m here?!” he asks next, his voice sounding so scared, so _pained,_ that he’d be embarrassed if he weren’t already so furious. 

“No, Aaron, she doesn’t,” Robert says forcefully as he gets to his feet and tries to grab Aaron’s shoulders again, a move he dodges. 

“Paddy promised not to tell her until you were better.” 

“Making promises about _my_ life,” he spits out, his heart hammering so violently he wouldn’t be surprised if it flew out of his chest and smacked Robert in the face. “You know who you sound like?” 

Now it’s Robert’s turn to get angry. “Don’t you _dare_ compare me to him! To that… that _psychopath._ I’m trying to _protect you,_ Aaron. I’m trying to help you!”

“Well you’re doing a bang up job of that,” he says bitterly as he rubs his palm against his chest in the hopes of calming himself down. Anything to just regain some semblance of control over his own body, even if he can’t control his current situation. 

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Robert asks, his tone petulant like he wants Aaron to get on his knees and kiss the bloody ring. And maybe he should. Maybe that’s what a normal person would do when someone else saves their life. But Aaron isn’t normal and he’s not about to get past the fact that _Robert brought him to the one place on earth he never wanted to go._

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Aaron says as calmly as he can, his eyes locked on Robert’s. “You’re gonna get me to the bus stop, without _anyone_ seeing me. And then I’m gonna go back to Leeds and forget this whole thing ever happened.” 

“No,” Robert says resolutely, and Aaron knew he wouldn’t go along with it, but he was hoping for at least a little bit of bend. 

“Fine. I’ll get there myself.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Aaron. I mean _no._ You’re not leaving this village, not unless it’s with me. And you’re certainly not going anywhere _near_ Leeds ever again if I can help it.” 

“And how are you gonna manage that, huh? You gonna lock me in my bedroom?” 

“Yes, Aaron, if I have to I will. I’m not letting you walk back into that viper’s nest.” 

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to stem the headache that’s been building behind his eyes from the moment he stepped foot outside. His voice tired now, completely resigned when he says, “We already had this conversation, Robert.” 

“No… no, see, we didn’t,” Robert replies, his voice angry again. Flat out _done._

“Last time, you cut me off and told me you wanted to sleep. And before that, you just shouted a bunch of stuff at me, walked out, then called me five days later when you were dying in a grotty warehouse. That’s not a conversation, Aaron, that’s an _ultimatum._ And a shite one at that.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, knowing as he does that the next words out of his mouth might make or break this conversation, so he needs to sound as level as possible. Something he hasn’t managed yet today, but something he shoots for with all his strength when he says, “Aren’t you even the slightest bit worried that Cal is gonna come through on his threat?” 

“No,” Robert says, just one word, which is not a lot for Aaron to work with. 

“Why?” he asks. 

Robert crosses his arms over his bare chest and declares, “Because you’re worth the risk, you idiot.” 

Deep breaths. He just needs to keep taking deep breaths. 

“You’re the idiot,” Aaron accuses. “Willing to risk your life for a bloke you’ve only been shagging for a couple months.”

“For a bloke _I’m in love with,_ remember?” he shoots back. “Trust me, it makes a difference.” 

_It does,_ Aaron thinks. When you’re in love with someone, you’ll apparently do anything to keep them safe, even if that includes walking away. And he almost tells Robert that, makes some big mid-argument declaration like Robert had done. But before he gets a chance to, he hears Paddy clearing his throat from off to the side. 

Both of their heads snap to where Paddy is standing in the doorway, his face red and his eyes beady as he says, “Since you’re already shouting, I figured you wouldn’t mind a little more fuel to the fire. And she’d kill me if you left, Aaron, before she got to see you.” 

_She,_ Aaron thinks. Who is she? But he already knows the answer, doesn’t he. Long before his bloody mum comes walking through the door, oblivious as the day is long. 

“Robert Sugden, why are you standing in Paddy’s sitting room in just your underwear?” she asks, scandalized. But any confusion she has about that only quadruples when her eyes trail to Aaron. 

She stares at him blankly for a moment before her head tips softly to the side, the gears of her mind cranking, cranking, _cranking_ until a spark of realization hits her. 

“No!” she gasps, her hand rising to her mouth as the spark turns into a brushfire, her whole body starting to shake and her eyes welling up as she asks through her fingers, “Aaron? Is that you?” 

_No,_ he thinks. _It’s not me. There is no Aaron._

And just like that, he’s out the door and disappearing into the mid-afternoon sun. 


	22. All Hands Against His Own

There are two things Robert realizes as he watches the bus move away from the stop at a speed he could never reach on foot. 

One: Conveniently timed buses come more often than he remembers in this part of Yorkshire. 

Two: He’s standing in the middle of the village on a frigid Spring morning in nothing but his underwear.

_Damnit, Aaron._

He knew this would happen. He just _knew it._ Which essentially means that he really only has himself to blame. 

He should’ve told Aaron where they were from the outset, while he was still in too much pain to move. But he knows Aaron, and so he’s fairly confident that he just would’ve tried to limp away then and there, trailing a string of bandages and blood behind him. 

He was trying to keep the stubborn arse safe for as long as possible. But he knew all along that he was also taking agency away from someone who has some very severe, and very valid, control issues.

What the bloody hell was he thinking? 

“Robert?” 

It’s a woman’s voice, one he knows by heart. But there’s still a thrill of _Aaron_ that flashes through him before he turns around and sees his sister staring at him like he’s flown out of the house completely starkers. 

There are more people around them, slowing their walks. And really Robert just wants to shout at them, ask them if they’ve never seen a mostly naked man before. But his sister looks so confused and helpless and _Aaron is getting away,_ so Robert needs to deal with this ASAP. 

“Not now, Vic, okay?” he asks, holding his hands up to keep her from moving any closer, which is likely unnecessary, given how rooted to the ground she appears. 

“Robert, what-”

“I wish I could explain this to you, I really do,” he interrupts, “but I have some place I need to be.” 

“Where are you going?” she asks, her hand biting out like a rattlesnake to grip his arm, arrest his movement. 

“To Paddy’s,” he replies as he tries and fails to tug his arm away from her supernatural grip. 

The furrow in her brow deepens. “Why are you going to Paddy’s?” 

He looks heavenward for one blissful second before saying a bit too shortly, “To get my car. I have some things to sort.” 

He’s yanking his arm from her grip at that, almost toppling her over in the process, and then he’s running back to Paddy’s as fast as his legs will carry him. 

Chas is still there when he bursts through the door, looking as daft as ever. And because he can sense that she’s about to unload on him, he gets in there first with an exasperated, “I know you probably want to ask me a hundred questions, but if I don’t get some trousers on and get out of here, Aaron is going to be in a load of trouble.” 

She snaps her head back like someone’s just spritzed her with lemon juice. And Robert might find the expression funny if he weren’t in such a flipping hurry. 

He bolts up the stairs, grabbing the first pair of trousers he can find and the jumper Aaron was wearing the day before, and then slips into the trainers he was wearing the night he found Aaron - still blood splattered - hopping along the upstairs hall until the shoes are firmly in place. Then finally, as if it’s the theme for today, he’s running again. 

This time it’s down the stairs and out the back way, heading straight for his car. Only when he opens the still-unlocked door (flaming hell, he’d even left the keys in the ignition), he’s hit with a wave of the most powerful, unpleasant scent he’s ever experienced. 

Weeks old blood, baking in the sun on Italian leather makes for quite a pungent combination. 

He could drive his car. The motor itself has nothing wrong with it. But he’s not sure how long he’d last, dealing with that stench. And if he happens to get pulled over, he’s equally unsure of how he’d explain the crusted over pool of blood in the backseat. 

So he starts running _again,_ his lungs starting to protest all the fast movement, his muscles feeling just as abused. His breath coming in short, worn out gasps as he looks Paddy in the eye, holds out his hand, and says, “I need your car.” 

“W-what?” Paddy blusters. 

“I. Need. Your. Car,” he repeats as if he’s speaking to someone who’s simple, which maybe he is. 

“Why do you need my car?” 

“Because mine reeks of Aaron’s blood and funnily enough, I don’t fancy my chances of catching his bus on foot.” 

“Aaron’s blood?!” Chas gasps, and Robert can’t help but roll his eyes because for a second, he completely forgot she was there. 

“What are you doing with my boy’s blood in your car?” 

“Your boy?” he asks before he can catch himself. All of the bitterness he feels about his own family doubling over itself when combined with the way he knows Aaron feels about his. About their abandonment. 

But that’s not an argument he should be having right now, and he isn’t the one who should be having it anyway. So he looks away from Chas, looks _back_ to Paddy, and says, “Car, please, now,” in the simplest way he possibly can. 

Paddy goes over to a hook by the door, grabs a set of keys and silently hands them over to Robert, allowing him to slip away without another word spoken. 

Better to let Paddy explain things anyway. He’s sure there’ll be less shouting that way. 

There’s a red SUV parked behind the vet’s office, the only car in sight, which means Robert is going to be chasing down Aaron in the Parental Express. The bloody thing even has a car seat in it. But none of that matters, really, because Aaron’s now got a five minute head start on him, maybe more, and so the longer Robert delays, the further Aaron gets. 

His only saving grace is that he knows this area well. The bus is likely heading for Leeds via Hotten, and there aren’t many direct routes it could take. Which means even though he doesn’t know where the bus _is now_ exactly, he knows where it _will be,_ and he can use that to pinpoint its location. 

He’ll worry about the rest when he finds it. 

The radio begins blaring some horrible 80s station the second Robert turns on the vehicle, his senses assaulted by synthesizers and hairspray. So he takes a moment to turn the bloody thing off before he’s reversing away from the cottage and heading toward the main road. 

His heart is beating erratically as he speeds down the country lanes, passing farms and the occasional cottage along the way until he sees what he’s been looking for: Aaron’s bus, just up ahead. 

He manages to pass it with little trouble, despite the limitations of his current vehicle. Which means he’s ready and able to pull over the next time the bus makes a stop. 

He makes sure that Paddy’s car is safely tucked off the side of the road before he gets out and runs yet again, this time to a sparsely loaded bus that’s… completely devoid of any and all things Aaron. 

He searches the vicinity as many times as he can get away with before the bus driver asks if he’s getting on or not. And his entire body just sags under the word, “Not,” as he slinks off the bus and back to Paddy’s car. 

He was so sure this would work. That he would find Aaron’s bus and get him off of it, bring him back home. Never once did he imagine that he’d get the wrong bus in the end, only that’s exactly what he’s gone and done, isn’t it? 

Complete and utter failure, such is his lot in life. 

“Where are you?” he moans as he bangs his head a few times on the steering wheel, not hard enough to hurt but sharp enough to wake him up properly. 

“Where are you?!” he screams, his voice echoing inside the car as he feels his limbs begin to shake from the press of adrenaline. 

“Where are you?” he whispers softly into his hands before he takes a deep breath and lets the tears come. 

Where is he? 

~*~

Chas is on him the second he steps through the door. He doesn’t even get the chance to hang Paddy’s keys back on the hook before she’s flying at him, hair a mess, eyes crazy, and arms flapping in the air. 

“Where is my son?!” she shouts at him, which is really unnecessary in such confined quarters. At least that’s what Robert’s newfound headache thinks. 

“I don’t know,” Robert replies truthfully. He’s probably in Hotten by now, maybe he’s even on his way to Leeds, Robert has no clue. 

_Robert has no clue._

“But you were going… and you said… and the blood… why is there _blood_ in… in…”

Robert looks to Paddy for assistance, but all he gets back is an apologetic shrug before his eyes dart away. 

Big help he is. 

“Chas, I really don’t have time to explain this all to you. I need to make some calls, see if I can-”

“Can what?” she hisses, interrupting his very polite and formal _fuck off._ “Figure out where _my son_ has run off to? The one who has been missing for over a decade? The one who was _standing right in this very room_ until you chased him off?” 

“I chased him off?” he asks incredulously. “As if it was _my_ fault he bolted. Notice how he and I were having a nice little conversation until he saw _your mug,_ Chas. If anyone chased him off…” 

He lets his words trail off with a forced laugh, mostly because he knows they’re not entirely true. Aaron was making plans to sneak out of the village when Chas walked in, so if he was running away from anyone, it was _everyone in the whole damn village including Robert, yeah Robert, you too, he was running away from_ **_you too._ **

But Chas doesn’t need to know any of that, now does she? Not when she’s still looking at him all judgey like all the world’s problems up to and including global warming are his fault. 

“Listen to me,” she says lowly, one perfectly manicured fingernail pointed directly at his chest. “You’re not leaving this room until you tell me _exactly_ what is going on with my boy, or so help me…”

_So help you what,_ he wants to ask. What exactly is she going to do to him that’s so threatening he should be shaking in his trainers? Nothing, that’s the answer. She can do absolutely _nothing_ to him that’s worse than Aaron being scattered in the wind with a bullet hole in him. 

He’s got no play right now, though. The only hope he’s got left is Meg, and it’ll be an hour or more at least until Aaron is anywhere near her. So he sighs deeply, folds his arms over his chest, and asks, “What do you want to know?” 

~*~

He doesn’t tell her much, in the end. Just the basics, the kind of information he hopes Aaron won’t hate him for divulging. 

He ran away from home at sixteen - _why,_ she wanted to know, _I don’t know,_ he’d had to lie. He slept rough for an indeterminate amount of time before Cal MacFarlane, local hero, scooped him up off the street. And such began a life of crime that eventually led to him getting shot a couple weeks ago in a “drug deal gone wrong,” or something like that. 

He can tell she wants to know more, and furthermore he can tell she knows he’s got a hell of a lot more answers than he’s giving. But she seems to be satisfied enough as she wipes more tears from her face and trembles in Paddy’s arms. 

It makes him sick, it does. 

_If you’d have been there for him_ , Robert wants to say, _this never would’ve happened. He’d be living in Emmerdale, going to therapy, owning a dog and just generally living a happier, more well adjusted life._ But that’s not what happened, is it? And so there’s no point in making wishes that it had. 

“How do you come in?” she asks once he’s finished his speech, her eyes dragging down his body like she’s remembering how he’d just been standing there in his boxers a short while ago. 

He decides to rip the plaster off quickly, hoping Aaron won’t mind him outing him to his mum when he says, “We’re in a relationship.” Because they’ve been shagging in Paddy’s house for days. If Chas didn’t know Aaron had a predilection for men yet, she would eventually. 

Frankly, he’s surprised Paddy kept his gob shut this long. 

“You ‘n him?” she asks, and Robert can’t tell if the disgust in her tone is homophobia or Robert-phobia. 

“Yeah. Have you got a problem with that?” he asks forcefully, crossing his arms again like he’s trying to create a protective wall in front of Aaron even though Aaron isn’t even here anymore. 

“My boy can fancy whoever he likes, boy or girl. I just thought he’d have better taste is all.” 

Her voice is so self-righteous that even though he knows it’s a mistake, he can’t help but say, “And what would you know about _your boy’s_ tastes? You’ve missed half his life. He’s nowhere _close_ to the person you used to know, so maybe you should just keep your neb out of things you know nothing about.” 

She rears back in shock at that, a tidy little gasp escaping her mouth. But Robert only feels vindicated for a few short seconds before he realizes that he’s the one who should be keeping his gob shut. 

This conversation was supposed to be simple. Basic information. No antagonism. And now he’s gone and stuck his foot in it.

“As if you, Robert Sugden, great philanderer, could know anything about _my_ son.” 

She keeps doing that. Keeps emphasizing the _my_ of things. My son, my boy, my bloody mistake more like. And Robert wants to shout at her so badly he can feel it pumping in his chest like a second heart. 

But he’d only be taking out his own guilt on her. And while he doesn’t care about her feelings, he _does_ care about Aaron’s. And when Aaron comes back - _when -_ he doesn’t want there to be an ever bigger mess for him to sort. 

So he keeps his mouth shut, getting to his feet and heading towards the stairs, completely ignoring the way Chas calls out after him. And he doesn’t stop until he hits his and Aaron’s little makeshift sanctuary, closing the door behind him and collapsing face first onto their bed before letting the tears come for the second time today. 

Something tells him it won’t be the last. 

~*~ 

Even though it’s absolute torture, he waits until that night to call Meg, wanting to give Aaron plenty of time to wend his way home, if that’s where he’s going in the end. 

He stays in the box room all day, leaving only for trips to the bog that are pretty well spaced given that he’s refusing to eat or drink anything like he’s on some sort of strange hunger strike. 

No Food Until Aaron Is Good!

He needs to work on his slogan a bit. The point is, he spends an entire day lying around in misery, hoping that Aaron will just walk through the door and tell him he was wrong to leave, that he’s sorry, that he loves him, maybe even, though that last one is a bit of a stretch for even Robert’s active imagination. 

None of that happens, of course. So when the clock ticks over past eight - roughly twelve hours since Aaron left - Robert picks up his mobile and calls Meg. 

“Don’t kick off,” he says miserably when she picks up after only two quick rings. 

She laughs, a bitter little burst of it before saying, “And why would I do that, hm? It’s not like we found Aaron’s blood next to a dead body and your sole contribution to the mystery was a text that said, “he’s alive,” before you _blanked me_ for two weeks. Why in the bloody hell would I kick off, Robert?” 

She makes a valid point, one that he can’t even begin to make excuses for because he did all that. Though in his defense, he had more important things to be worrying about than Meg’s constant calls and texts and, you know, there’s the added bonus of not being entirely sure if he could trust her or not. 

“Did he come back, Meg?” he asks instead of responding to any of what she just said. And the question is enough to derail her. 

“No, why would he?” she asks a bit desperately. “I thought he was with you.” 

Robert takes a deep breath before admitting, “He was, but now… he’s not. Something happened and he… and he left. I have no idea where he went.” 

“Damnit, Robert!” she shouts, the sound shrieking in his ear. “You were supposed to be watching him, keeping him away from here.” 

“You think I don’t know that? He’s an adult, Meg. I can’t exactly lock him in his room.”

“Why the hell not?” she bites out, and Robert wants to trust that. That hellfire. That screaming defense. 

He wants to trust _her._ But he’s still not one hundred percent sure where her loyalties lie so he asks, “Are you lying to me? About him not coming back? Would you… would you even tell me if he was there?” 

“Why would I lie to you?” she asks, conveniently not answering the question. 

“I don’t know, Meg. Because you’re Cal’s daughter? Because it’s become very clear that your father will do anything in his power to keep Aaron under his thumb?”

“It’s not like that,” Meg defends instantly, and Robert has to bite back a laugh at her response. 

“Just tell me, _please,_ is he there? I just need to hear it again.”

Her voice is closer to the mouthpiece when she speaks this time, something like sincerity bleeding down the line as she says, “He’s not here, Robert.”

“You swear it?” 

“I swear it,” she answers immediately. 

“And you’re not just saying that for your dad?” 

She takes a very deep, very audible breath before she says, “I was the one who told you to get him out in the first place, wasn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Robert says weakly. 

“Well he’s not here. I’ll call around to his friends, see if he’s staying with any of them. I’ll text you if I find anything.” 

“Thank you,” he says honestly, the words pulled from somewhere deep in his stomach like he was just waiting for someone - _anyone_ \- to be on his side. 

She waits a few tense seconds before saying a reluctant, “You’re welcome. Just… just pick up your damn phone when I call next time, yeah?” 

“I will,” Robert promises. And for now, that seems to be enough. 

~*~

About an hour later, as Robert is getting in some quality wallowing time, there’s a knock on his door. 

“I said I don’t want any food, Paddy, but thank you!” he calls out from the flat of his back, the position he’s been using to study the cracks in the ceiling. 

He’s almost got them entirely mapped out now, so that if he closes his eyes, he can still see where every one is placed. And he’s about five minutes away from naming them so he really doesn’t need Paddy’s reheated stew, thank you very much. 

“I don’t have any food. It’s just… there’s s-someone here to see you,” Paddy stutters through the wood of the door. 

Robert is sitting up immediately, the blood rushing to his head making him dizzy, his voice far more excited than it probably should be as he asks, “Is it Aaron?” 

The door opens at that, crushing all of his hopes and dreams when he sees his sister standing there, looking more apologetic than she should right now. 

“No, it’s me,” she says in case Robert’s eyes have stopped working since she saw him near-naked in the village square just this morning. “Can I come in?”

“You’ve already opened the door,” he says bitterly as he glances around at the tornado Aaron created before he left. “Might as well.”

He pushes himself up to the headboard as Vic walks towards him as if she’s stepping through a minefield, which isn’t far off when describing the mess. His back relishing the feel of the metal bars pressing into his spine as he pulls his knees up to his chest and orders himself not to cry. 

Vic looks at him for at least a minute, opening her mouth then closing it again, time after time, clearly unable to think of where to start. And so eventually, Robert just starts it for her. 

“I was running through the village in my underwear because I was trying to stop my boyfriend from going back to his abusive family.” 

It’s close enough to the truth that Robert doesn’t feel like he’s flat out lying to her. 

“You mean Daniel?” she asks. 

Robert blinks a few dozen times because… what?

“Daniel,” she repeats more slowly like his problem was in the way she said the name. “The boxing mechanic you told me about last time you were here?”

Oh. 

Right.

“Yeah, Daniel wasn’t real. I just told you that because I couldn’t really tell you that I was seeing Aaron Livesy. Or Dingle. Or whatever.” 

Vic’s eyes go wide as saucers. “You’re dating Chas’ son?!” 

_Who knows anymore,_ Robert thinks with a pain in his chest. His voice even more subdued that it was before, which is hard, when he says, “Maybe not anymore, I don’t know. But he was my boxing mechanic.” 

He pauses for a second before doubling down. 

“He was my boxing _drug dealer._ He fell in with some bad people when he was young and he’s a great guy, Vic. He’s really the best person I’ve ever met. It’s why I’ve been trying to get him out of there all this time, but they’ve got… his… well, his dad, sort of, this Cal, he’s got this hold over him and I don’t know how to break it and he got shot doing something stupid and I had to have my mate Grayson fix him up and then I brought him here because Paddy has the drugs Aaron needed and Emmerdale is _safe_ only he ran away, in the end, because why would anyone want to stay with me, right?”

Okay, that was more like _quadrupling_ down. And it was also more than Vic could handle in the span of a few breaths because she seems to just be staring at him like her entire system crashed. 

Before she has a chance to reboot, he adds to the fire, because he might as well, right? 

“Cal threatened me, it’s why we needed some place safe, why we couldn’t go back to his family’s house, why I couldn’t take him to them when I found him bleeding out in some warehouse we used to have sex in. He told me he’d kill me if I didn’t back off Aaron, but I love him, Vic. I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone and I just… I just don’t want to let him go. I want to protect him. And he says he doesn’t need saving but I think he does because how the hell else is he going to get away from these people, huh?” 

She’s still just staring at him blankly, her eyes not even blinking. And so Robert is about to fill the silence up with his own ramblings again before she holds up her hand to stop him. 

“He threatened you?” she asks slowly, carefully, minefields all over again. “As in threatened your life? Is that what I’m meant to believe?” 

Robert nods. And she leans in like maybe she’s going to give him a hug which, truth be told, he could really use right now. Only instead she backhands the side of his head. 

His brain rattles for a few seconds, like a pebble in a can, before he refocuses back on her in time to hear her say, “Why the hell didn’t you go to the police, Robert?” 

“Because he’s the head of the largest crime family in the city, Vic. You think he doesn’t have the coppers in his back pocket?” 

“He’s the… he’s the what?” 

“Didn’t I say that part?” 

“No, you did not say that part!” Victoria positively _roars._ “Robert, you need to get out of this mess now. You need to… need to back away, do what this Cal person says.”

“How can you say that? I _love_ Aaron.”

She rests her hand on his knee, looks at him with the same eyes his mom used to have, and then rips his heart out. 

“You’ve only known him a few months. How can you possibly love him this much? Love him enough to risk your life?” 

He lets the question settle in for a moment, wonders if maybe his sister has a point. But then he remembers the way it looks when sunlight slants over Aaron’s sleeping face. The way it feels to wake up to the smell of _them,_ buried in the sheets. 

He remembers every time Aaron has smiled at him, has laughed at one of his jokes, pretended that his cooking was only “just alright” when everyone could tell it was fantastic, practically cuisine. 

He thinks of all the truths Aaron has told him, the ones he’s pried from inside his body with bloody fingers and an erratically beating heart. Thinks of the ways in which Aaron has _trusted him,_ when everyone else in his life has let him down. 

He remembers what it feels like to be inside Aaron, to have Aaron inside him, and how despite how amazing the sex is, it’s those moments after that Robert really loves. The ones where it’s just them, breathing, holding one another like they’re tipping over the end of the earth together. 

_Together._

“I love him, Vic,” he says strongly, resolutely. “And I don’t need to justify that to you, to _anyone._ He’s the one for me, I _know it._ So if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how to find him. Bring him _home,_ to me, because that’s what we are to each other.”

_We’re home,_ he thinks as he gets off the bed, grabbing a fresh set of clothes before heading to the shower so he can be clear headed as he makes some calls. Any calls. Every single call he can possibly make if it means finding Aaron in the end. Because if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that he _loves Aaron._

And when you love someone, you never give up. 

~*~

Robert spends the next two days driving all over northern England looking for Aaron. 

Meg said she’d call his friends, but he’s not at the point of trusting anyone right now. So he asks her for their addresses instead so he can see for himself. 

Bare minimum it gives him something to do to pass the time until Aaron shows back up again. 

Tonight he’s visiting someone called Matt Baker, a supposedly good friend of Aaron’s that lives in Manchester now. 

He used to work for Cal, Meg tells him. Which doesn’t exactly make Robert feel very comfortable. But he’s known Aaron for years, it seems, and he’s also Aaron’s go to mate when he needs a few days away from Leeds. So if there was ever going to be a good bet in this situation, this Matt is it. 

He feels nervous when he gets to the door for some reason, a sheen of cold sweat breaking out across the back of his neck as he raises a tingling fist and knocks a few times on the door. 

He’s met a few seconds later by a dark-skinned man that is way too attractive for Robert’s liking, given how close he seems to have been with Aaron in the past. 

“Can I help you?” the bloke asks with a hint of wariness that Robert can feel as well. 

“Are you Matt Baker?” 

“One and the same. Who’s asking?” 

Robert takes a deep breath before diving into his door-to-door salesman schpiel. 

“My name is Robert Sugden, and I’m looking for Aaron Livesy. Have you by any chance seen him lately?” 

Matt’s entire face locks down with agitation and what looks a bit like fear, his voice hard as granite from it all when he says, “Look, mate, I haven’t seen Aaron in almost a year, alright? So you can tell Cal that he doesn’t have to worry anymore. I’m keeping up my end of the bargain.”

Robert is… confused. Very, _very_ confused. Which is why his voice is a little pinched when he asks, “Why would I tell Cal anything?” 

“Because you’re here for him,” Matt replies, half question, half statement. 

And Robert is so lost that all he can manage in return is a petulant little, “No, I’m not.” 

Matt looks him up and down, taking in every aspect of him before he asks, “Then why are you here?” 

“Because I’m looking for Aaron.” 

“Yeah, but why?”

“Can I come in?” Robert asks because he feels very exposed like this, standing in the hallway where anyone can hear. 

But Matt just shakes his head. “Absolutely not. What do you think, I’m an amateur or summat?” 

Robert doesn’t know what that means. 

Robert doesn’t know what _any of this_ means. 

“I’m a… friend of Aaron’s,” Robert tries then because even though it’s pretty clear Aaron’s not here, there’s still _something_ here, something Robert wants to know. 

There’s a long pause wherein Matt seemingly finds every one of Robert’s secrets up to and including his bank code with just a look. 

“I get it now,” Matt replies with a smile, which it’s good that at least one of them does. “You’re the guy, aren’t you? The one he stays with when he’s pretending to be with me.” 

That… is probably a very accurate description of him. “And you are?” 

“I’m Matt,” Matt says like they haven’t already established that. “Aaron and I used to… well, we used to hook up sometimes, back in the day.”

Robert can feel the sneer twist across his face, something that just makes Matt laugh before he says, “Don’t worry, mate. It weren’t anything serious. He liked it… well, he liked it a bit rougher than I’m comfortable with, wanted me to hurt him sometimes, and I’m not about that. So we just decided that we were better as mates.” 

Robert… doesn’t know what to do with that information - _hurt him?_ \- so he packs it away for later and asks, “So what’s the deal with Cal and you then?” 

Matt takes a look down his hallway, left and then right, but he still doesn’t invite Robert in. 

“Like I said, Aaron and I were just mates, only one night, I get back to my flat to find Cal sitting on my sofa, waiting for me.” 

A chill runs up Robert’s spine as the memory of Cal threatening him rushes back to the forefront of his thought. 

“Told me if I didn’t back off of Aaron, he’d put me in the ground. And given that I’m not a moron, I picked up my stuff and moved to Manchester a few days later.” 

“Why didn’t you tell Aaron?” he asks, completely appalled because this supposed mate of Aaron’s just left him to the flipping wolves. 

“Em, because I’m not suicidal?” he asks. “You have heard what happened to Jackson, right?” 

Another shiver runs up his spine. “He died in a car accident, didn’t he?” 

Matt leans in like he’s about to tell Robert some deadly secret, which apparently he is. 

“Only rumour is it wasn’t so much an accident as a hit.” 

_Fuck,_ he thinks. That’s really the only word he’s got right now. Fuck, then fuck, then a little more _fuck._

“Look, Aaron is a great mate, I’m not denying it. But I’m not about to risk my life for him,” Matt says coldly. “If I tried to get too close to him and Cal got wind of it, I’d be the one twisted in a pile of metal on the side of the road. No one’s worth that.” 

_Aaron is,_ something deep inside Robert growls. Aaron is worth _anything._ But he’s not going to get this Matt person to understand that so he might as well go. 

“Thank you for your time,” Robert says cordially as he goes to turn away, head back to his car, to ground zero. But Matt’s voice stops him in his tracks. 

“I’d say good luck finding him, but for your sake, it’s probably better if you don’t.” 

_You don’t know anything,_ Robert wants to say. Nobody knows anything about Aaron, not the way he does. But again, it’d be pointless, and Robert is out of friends to talk to. Which means he needs to find another point of entry. 

There really is only one left. 

Paddy is still up when he gets back to the cottage, his face etched in worry as he watches Robert move quickly through the door. 

He’s on a mission now, in search of food and a quick shower before he’s back out again because he called in a favour with Clive tonight. And now, in his phone, he’s got stored the address for the MacFarlanes. Because maybe Meg is lying after all, maybe Aaron _did_ go back there, and maybe Robert needs to break him out. 

It’s not much of a plan, but it’s something. 

“Where are you going?” Paddy asks when Robert comes back downstairs, heading straight for the door. 

Robert turns to look at him, stares him dead in the eye, and says, “I’m going to storm the Bastille.” 


	23. Remember When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mentions of rape, violence, suicidal thoughts and mental abuse. This chapter is pretty dark, so please just heed the warnings. And anyone who might be using this fic as therapy, please don’t listen to what Cal says. He’s an abuser, we all know this by now, and his means of therapy are not to be trusted. 

He’s on the bus for maybe five minutes before he realises what a stupid mistake he’s made. 

Buses are fixed objects in flipping space. Translation: _Buses_ are _easy to follow._ Which means he might as well paint a target on his back and write the words _Robert come find me here_ across it if he stays on this bus for another second. 

The driver isn’t best pleased when Aaron shoots up like his arse is on fire and shouts, “I need to get off!” But evidently the threat of having a mental patient on the bus is worse than the guilt of leaving some daft moron in the middle of nowhere, and so the driver stops. 

He doesn’t know what to do next, so he just keeps walking, away from Emmerdale and away from the road as well. Because you best believe Robert is gonna come tearing down it sometime soon, and the last thing Aaron wants right now is to be found. 

He needs to sort his head out, has needed to from the moment he walked into Grayson’s hotel and saw a tall, fit blond practically fondling himself across the room. That was the day his life changed irrevocably. The day everything started going downhill, or uphill maybe, it depends on how you look at it. 

Aaron doesn’t know how to look at it. 

What he does know is he’s still got a bullet wound in his stomach, which means by the time he’s been walking for an hour - _slowly,_ mind - his entire side feels like it’s been burnt to a crisp _and_ stabbed with a thousand or so knives. 

He needs water. Needs a place to sit down, rest, maybe sleep. And someone up there or wherever must be looking out for him finally because about fifteen minutes after he’s decided on giving up, lying in the middle of the underbrush and letting the ground swallow him whole, he sees what appears to be a derelict farm off in the distance. 

It takes him a good half hour to get there, given his level of _pain pain pain and more pain._ But the miracles keep following him when he rocks up to the main house and notices two things: 

One: It doesn’t look like anyone lives here anymore. 

Two: There’s a water pump out back. 

He makes his way to the pump first, dying of thirst as he is. And if anyone were to come upon him now, they’d see a right idiot in a stupid jumper practically snogging a water pump like he wants to marry it. 

The water is amazing, though. It’s cold and crisp and hitting all the right spots as he ingests pump after pump after pump straight from the source. It’s even making his side feel a bit better - not much, but a bit. Which is why there’s almost a smile on his face when he finally stands up straight again. 

That’s when he remembers everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, in the last few _hours._ And suddenly the near-smile is fading into the background. 

The house has a crooked “Foreclosure” sign on the front door, the tape worn through in one corner, forcing the sign to flap in the wind. And Aaron might feel shame over kicking the door in if he hadn’t spent almost a year of his life living on the streets. 

You do what you have to do to survive. And then you do it again if you have to. 

As he makes his way quietly around the lower level of the house, something starts to twist up his spine. It’s like a zombie apocalypse film, it is, rifling through the possessions left behind by whatever poor family got kicked out of this home. But any guilt he may feel is washed away the second he opens the cupboard under the kitchen sink. 

There are at least a half dozen half-full bottles of alcohol under there, in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. And what better way to deal with his pain, both physical and mental, than to find a comfortable place to sit and get completely bladdered. 

This place is the gift that keeps on giving. 

He starts with the whiskey, wanting something that’s gonna get him drunk fast, and saves the vodka for later when he stops caring what he’s drinking. 

It burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome feeling, given that he knows what it’s gonna lead to. The sofa cushions letting up little puffs of dust as they form to his back, welcoming him in like he needs right now. Like an old friend. 

Like Robert. 

Like Robert’s body.

Like Robert’s skin. 

Like Robert’s lips. 

Like Robert’s-

_No,_ he reprimands himself. That’s not why he’s here. Sex with Robert is the problem, not the solution. It’s the thing that keeps confusing him. And if Aaron is gonna sort out his flipping life, he’s gonna have to put Robert on the back burner for now. 

He takes another long swig of the whiskey, closes his eyes tight as the burn ignites in his throat, and thinks about how at least here, in this stranger’s house, he has a roof over his head. 

God knows he’s lived in worse. 

~*~

**_Aaron: Age 16._ **

It’s been five days since Aaron has had so much as a scrap of food. He’s gone longer before, but it doesn’t feel like that now. It feels like his stomach is turning itself inside out, cramping up every time he tries to move. And he’s almost certain that if he doesn’t eat soon, he’s gonna die. 

He’s resigned himself to that end, actually. He’s been squatting in his warehouse lately to protect himself from the chill, and he can just picture it. Can imagine curling up in a ball on his sofa, closing his eyes and just never opening them again. 

Death doesn’t scare him. Wherever he goes next, if there even is a _next,_ it’s gotta be better than here. Than this place. Than his dreams. Death would actually be welcome, if he thinks about it enough. Only there’s something inside him, something so deep even he can’t see it on most days that tells him _no._

People survive for lots of reasons. Love. Faith. Hope. But Aaron? He’s doing it out of bloody spite. 

Gordon tried to break him. For eight years, he chipped away pieces of Aaron, hoarding them for himself. And the day Aaron walked out, he really thought Gordon had done it. Had taken away _everything._ But it only took a half dozen steps out the door for him to realise he hadn’t. 

The hate was still there. The anger. The _rage._ The burning desire to prove that he was still _him._ That Gordon hadn’t broken away everything. And if that’s a reason to live - two thin fingers held up to a useless scrap of a human being - then Aaron’s gonna keep on living. 

Fuck him. Only Aaron gets to decide when Aaron dies. 

Doesn’t change the fact that he’s still starving, of course. That it’s creeping up on midnight on another day without food. Which is why when he sees the man in the leather jacket walking down the street, he makes a decision. 

He usually doesn’t pick the pockets of men. Women’s handbags are easier to snatch. Old people are even better than that. But everyone that’s still out tonight is in a group, and the last time Aaron tried that, he got beaten to a pulp for his troubles. 

It’s this or nothing. 

He’s gotten good at picking pockets over the last year. One hundred percent self-taught and damn proud of it. Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when he makes it away effortlessly with the man’s wallet warm in his hands. 

There’s wads of cash inside it, credit cards he’ll never use because he’s not daft. But Aaron’s getting chips tonight, from his favourite place no less. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And the next-

“Excuse me, son, but I think you have something that belongs to me.” 

Aaron looks up, stuffs the wallet in his pocket, but it’s clear that he’s already been caught out. 

The man he’d stolen it from is sitting on a shop’s steps, his body relaxed and his face bearing the hints of a smile. Which either means Aaron isn’t gonna get killed tonight or he _is_ gonna get killed in some fancy serial killer sorta way. 

Tossups. His whole life is a series of flipping tossups. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as boldly as he can, sticking out his chest in what’s probably a very unimpressive way given how skinny he’s gotten. 

“You know, you might have been able to pull off the _what me it’s nothing_ look if you weren’t stood there holding my wallet.” 

Aaron’s body tenses, waiting for the fallout only… it never comes. 

“Why don’t you come with me,” the man says next. “I’ll buy you some chips.” 

“How are you gonna do that when you don’t have a wallet?” Aaron asks because Aaron is a Grade A moron. 

The man just smiles, though, sharp as fangs before asking, “Do you know who I am, lad?” 

Aaron stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs, still trying to front it out. “I dunno. You’re too old to be a club kid, but that jacket makes you look like you still wanna be. So my bet is Midlife Crisis Man?” 

The man laughs, punch me in the gut _laughs,_ and Aaron is now almost positive that he’s getting murdered tonight. But what’s he gonna do? Hand over the wallet and apologise? Throw himself at the man’s feet, begging for mercy? 

Yeah. That ain’t happening.

“My name’s Cal,” he says as he gets up from his perch, reaching out a hand that Aaron takes, albeit reluctantly. “As in Cal MacFarlane.” 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Aaron is _so_ getting murdered tonight. Then chopped into pieces and fed to starving pigs. 

“Look, Mr. MacFarlane,” he starts to say, his voice trembling now as he sees his life flashing before his eyes. 

It’s not a pretty picture. 

But MacFarlane just interrupts him, corrects him with, “It’s Cal, and you can stop worrying. I’m not going to hurt ya.” 

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Aaron mumbles, unable even now to turn off the sarcasm. Damn default setting. 

Cal approaches him properly, rests a heavy hand on Aaron’s shoulder, his body blocking out the light from the street lamp as he says, “Trust me. I don’t make it a habit of killing kids. I’m not a monster.” 

_That’s not what people ‘round here say,_ Aaron thinks, but for once, he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut. 

“So if you’re not gonna kill me,” he asks instead, “what are you gonna do?” 

Cal smiles something crooked yet still seemingly sincere when he replies, “I’m going to buy you some chips. And then… well, then I was thinking about offering you a job.” 

The next two hours go by in a blur, and somehow, in all of that, Aaron gets far more than some greasy chips and a job offer. It’s why he finds himself in Cal’s house later that night, wearing clothes that probably belong to one of Cal’s kids, and getting ready to sleep in an honest to God _bed._

He’d flat out forgotten what those things even felt like. 

Cal comes in before he’s able to knock off, the curtains thrown wide because Aaron isn’t ready to sleep in the dark just yet. Cal’s eyes lingering on them like maybe he’s understanding something about Aaron in the way the moon slants into the bedroom before he comes in and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“Why are you helping me?” Aaron asks, because he’s been sitting on that question for two hours and it’s never gonna get any easier to ask. 

Cal thinks about it for a minute, staring at Aaron but not making him feel small somehow, the way Gordon used to. His voice almost proud when he says, “What you have is rare, Aaron. You’re strong, stronger than most of the people I know. Stronger than my own boys by a long shot. To be able to live, to _survive_ the way you have been? You’d have to be strong. And that’s an admirable quality in my line of work.” 

“So… you helped me because I’m strong?” Aaron asks, his voice hesitant because there’s something he’s not getting here. 

Cal just laughs, though, like everything Aaron says is comedy gold. His hand just as heavy on Aaron’s shoulder as it had been before when he says, “I helped you because you deserved it. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me someday.” 

Aaron swallows hard, the chips rolling uncomfortably in his stomach, but he just blames that on the fact that he hadn’t eaten in almost a week. Because he’s safe now, right? Safer than he’s probably ever been, and maybe, just maybe he can learn to believe that. 

~*~

He wakes up the next day hungover and starving. 

No, not starving. Aaron has been _starving_ before. This is just hunger, the kind that comes from not remembering the last time you ate. And so even though his limbs are about as heavy as lead, he still gets up to search the farm house in the hopes of finding more miracles. 

He’s stumbling from the moment he hits his feet, the pain in his side nearly excruciating now that he’s gone without pain meds for almost a day. But that can be solved with vodka as soon as he gets some food down him. 

He misses Robert’s eggs. Robert used to make the best breakfasts, eggs and bacon and potatoes, the whole lot. Aaron used to joke that Robert was trying to fatten him up, but every time he’d say it Robert would get this sad look on his face like somehow he _knew._

Like when you’ve come _this close_ to starving to death, it’s written all over your skin. 

There are tins of beans in one of the kitchen cupboards. They’re not Aaron’s favourite breakfast food but at least they aren’t spoiled. The trick now is to find a can opener.

It takes him four tries to find the right drawer, but as soon as he lifts the can opener up he freezes at the sight of what’s beneath it. 

It probably doesn’t even work. It’s been sitting there for god knows how long, but Aaron still grabs the lighter and pockets it for… whatever. 

For later. Maybe. For if he needs it. 

The food feels just as leaden in his stomach as his limbs do, which means adding alcohol to the mix is probably not the best idea. But every time Aaron closes his eyes, the nightmares are there. The ones that used to cause him to scream in the middle of the night. 

They’d mostly stayed away last night, but Aaron knows that’s only because he’d gotten annihilated on warm whiskey before bed. All he wants to do right now is sleep. It feels like he’s been awake his entire life and now that he’s able to find some peace and quiet, the only thing he wants is to curl into a ball and pass out. 

He’s afraid of what will happen if he does, though. So he opens the bottle of vodka and pours a third of what’s left straight down his throat. Promising himself that he’ll keep pouring until everything disappears. 

~*~

**_Aaron: Age 17._ **

_“I told you what would happen if you answered me back again,” Gordon growls in his ear, his breath hot against Aaron’s skin._

_He’s got Aaron pinned to the bed, his face pressed into a pillow so that he can hardly breathe, but Aaron doesn’t care about that. About breathing. Because breathing means living and living means_ **_this_ ** _and this is unbearable._

_He wishes he weren’t a coward. That he had the courage to do something about it. To escape it all._

_“You’ll never learn, will you?” Gordon asks as he digs his knee into Aaron’s lower back, trapping him so effectively that the only thing Aaron can do is lie there and take it._

_He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. Each time it’s fresh. A brand new hell for him to experience as the word_ **_mum_ ** _cycles uselessly through his head._

_She left him two years ago, left him with his… his… with Gordon. She’s not coming back to save him. Nobody is coming to save him. He might as well just accept that now._

_“I’m doing this for your own good, to teach you how to behave,” Gordon says and Aaron can feel him, reaching for his pyjama bottoms. His heartbeat pounding so hard, so fast that he can’t believe it hasn’t just given out yet. Exploded in his chest. And it’s at that moment that he finds his voice._

_But his screams are just buried in the pillow._

“Aaron. Aaron!” 

A voice cuts through the nightmare like a knife, causing him to sit up so fast in bed he almost gets whiplash. 

He’s covered in sweat. Not just a little but _a lot,_ like he just took a shower and forgot to dry off. His heart still kicking the backs of his ribs as he tries and fails to get his shaking under control. 

“It’s alright, Aaron,” the voice continues from a fair distance away on the bed because they’ve done this before. Because Cal _knows,_ what to do, how to treat him, how to pull him back from the edge when the memories of Gordon want to tip him over it. 

He pulls his knees to his chest, begins sobbing as the feel of Gordon’s body plastered to his remains, every centimeter coating Aaron like oil. 

“You’re alright, Aaron. You’re here with me. You’re safe,” Cal soothes, which is weird, to hear his voice like that. In the daytime, in the real world, Cal is hard lines and jagged edges. But here, at night, when Aaron is at his most vulnerable, Cal finds a way to be something else. _Someone_ else. 

To be what Aaron needs. 

Aaron calms down by degrees, like he’s slowly rising from some place deep underwater. And once he’s back to the land of the living, he expects Cal to do what he always does. Leave him be, let him sort things out himself. Only for some reason, this time Cal stays. 

“You need to tell me what happened to you, son,” he says eventually, the words cutting fissures in the air around them. 

Aaron risks looking up from behind his knees, his face sticky from his tears, but the look on Cal’s face is not what he was expecting. 

It’s murderous. There’s no other way to put it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says because he’s _Aaron,_ and even if he were the type to share - which he’s not - this isn’t something he’s willing to let go of. 

Cal just moves closer to him, places a firm hand on the top of his knee and says, “Did you know you scream his name? Gordon. Dad. Please, stop. I’ll be good, I promise, please just-”

“Stop it!” Aaron shouts as he pulls back from Cal’s hand, his own words echoing back to him down the years as he tries to swallow the lump that’s recently grown in his throat. 

Cal just moves closer again, though, grabs his knee _again_ and says, “I”m going to protect you, you hear me? But you have to tell me what he did.”

Aaron still resists, still just stares stubbornly at Cal before he adds, “I just want to help you, Aaron. After everything I’ve done for you, why can’t you trust me with this?” 

Guilt floods his system immediately. Because Cal is right. Cal took him in almost a year ago, Cal _saved his life._ Without Cal he would’ve just been another statistic, another street kid, dead in a ditch. Why can’t he trust Cal with this? He deserves to know, doesn’t he? 

Aaron owes him. 

So he opens his mouth and says for the first time ever, “My dad raped me,” each word carved from him with a jagged knife. 

Cal nods, like he knew it all along. His eyes still fierce as he says, “No one’s ever going to touch you again, you hear me? You have my word. Now I want you to do something for me.” 

Aaron looks out in confusion, his face scrunched up from it as Cal says, “I want you to take that pain, and I want you to bury it deep inside of you. I want you to take it and I want you to _use it,_ you hear me? Because it’s a weapon. It’s not a weakness, I promise you that, but only if you use it to make yourself stronger. Harder. So tough that no one can ever get through again. Got it?” 

Aaron nods, a cold fear settling over his chest as he looks at Cal’s eyes, lit up by the moonlight. And he knows he’ll listen. Knows he’s _already listening._ Because Cal knows what’s best for him, he always has. And so if Cal says to turn his pain into a giant brick wall, then Aaron will start building from today. 

~*~ 

“One time, Robert tried to get me to watch _Game of Thrones._ His selling point was fit blokes and dragons, which, I guess the blokes were alright, but how he got that I’m the type of bloke that thinks dragons are cool I will never know.”

The lighter goes out so he takes a pause to light it again, directing his attention as well as his words to the little flame as he flicks his fingers through it and contemplates doing something _more,_ flame to skin. 

He’s busy talking about Robert now, though. The stupid things that Robert does and the stupider ones he tries to get Aaron to do. 

“Like that time he made me eat this dish with more syllables than our names combined times four and I ended up spending the whole night in the bog while he just laughed at me like it was funny that he made me sick.” 

_He also held your head up while you were puking in the toilet,_ he thinks. _And spooned you so softly in bed that it felt like you could just float away._ But that is neither here nor there. 

“I love him,” he tells his new friend the flame. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” Because he’s got commitments, he’s got a place in this bloody world, and none of it works if he’s with Robert. 

_He’ll kill him_ , his mind supplies next. He’s seen Cal do it before, heard so many rumours he can’t even count them any longer. And he can’t endanger Robert’s life like that, can he? 

He can’t do that to someone he loves. 

It was hard enough doing it to someone he hated. 

~*~

**_Aaron: Age 18._ **

The warehouse is different than the one Aaron goes to. It’s darker somehow, more sinister. And there’s a smell about the place that unsettles him long before he sees the man tied to the chair. 

It takes him longer than it probably should to realise that it’s Gordon, but he’d never expected to see him again. So seeing him anywhere, especially somewhere associated with Cal, is like seeing an elephant on the moon. 

Gordon doesn’t see him at first, coming in behind Cal as he is. It’s hard to notice anyone else when Cal’s in the room, Aaron learned that years ago. When he does finally catch sight of him, though, a spark of hope flashes across Gordon’s face. 

_He expects me to help him,_ Aaron thinks, even though he’s yet to figure out what Gordon needs help from. 

Why are they here? It’s just Cal, him, Gordon, and one of Cal’s heavies, he thinks his name is Jon. The warehouse is otherwise empty and Gordon is _tied to a chair,_ which really can mean only one thing except Aaron’s mind can’t latch onto that thing because it’s elephants on the moon again. 

_What the bloody hell is going on?_

“Aaron, son, you need to help me,” Gordon says, not shocking anyone in the room. And there’s so much… _stuff_ that Aaron wants to say. 

_I have a home now,_ he wants to say.

_I have people that care about me,_ he wants to say. 

**_You can’t touch me anymore,_ ** he wants to _scream._

But his tongue is tied, throat dried up and body frozen and so all he can do is stand there and blink like a daft fish in a bowl. 

“Now why would my boy help you?” Cal asks all conversationally like they’re all sitting around having a brew. 

“He’s not yours!” Gordon shouts, proper shouts in Cal’s face like that’s in any way a good idea. And Aaron wonders suddenly if Gordon even knows who Cal is. Like the first night Aaron met him, pick-pocketing the most dangerous man in Leeds like it was nothin’. 

Aaron could tell him. Maybe Aaron _should_ tell him. But a part of him wants to see how this is gonna play out. Because if anyone needs a good kicking, it’s Gordon, right? 

A shiver runs up his spine then down his arms. 

Maybe not so right after all. 

“Well he certainly isn’t yours,” Cal counters, before placing his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and leaning in, the gesture far more menacing than it is when he uses it on Aaron. 

“And in case you haven’t grasped this yet in your perverted little mind, this right here, Gordon, is the end of your life. So you better make peace with your god, if you’ve got one. Because nothing is going to pull you out of this one, least of all _my_ boy.” 

He spits in Gordon’s face at that, slapping him once hard across the cheek before putting his arm around Aaron and leading him a fair bit of distance away from his father. 

“I want you to know,” Cal starts to say as he crouches down to be at Aaron’s eye level, “that everything I’m about to do is for you. It’s all for you, alright? Because you deserve far better than what that sorry excuse for a man gave you.”

He runs his hand over Aaron’s nearly bald head before reaching into his pockets and taking out two different items. 

“You pick,” Cal says still so damn _calmly._ And Aaron can’t really process what he’s saying because he’s staring down at a switchblade in one of Cal’s hands and a pair of brass knuckles in the other. And damn it all if that’s not just taking up all of his head space. 

“This is your birthday present, my boy. It’s only right that you choose.” 

And oh yeah, Aaron had forgotten about that bit. He turned eighteen today, became a proper man n’all. And now… now…

Aaron points at the brass knuckles. He’s got no idea why he does it, he just knows that he _does._ And the way Cal beams at him makes something turn in Aaron’s stomach. 

“Good choice. It’ll take longer this way,” he says with a pat on Aaron’s shoulder. And then he’s walking back to Gordon, stuffing the knife back in his pocket and putting on the brass knuckles and… 

Something blinks. That’s the only way Aaron can explain it. One second his mind is relatively fine and the next second it _blinks,_ right around the time Cal lands the first punch, straight to Gordon’s jaw. 

Gordon’s blood sprays out of his mouth, spattering onto the floor beside him. And he gets it now. Hell, he probably got it the second he saw Gordon in the chair. But for sure he gets it _now._

Cal is gonna kill his father right here, right now, while Aaron watches. 

“Aaron!” Gordon cries out when Cal’s fist connects with his ribs. “Please… help me!” 

But Aaron just remains rooted to the spot where Cal had left him, completely paralyzed. 

The longer the beating progresses, the less Aaron is actually present, like his mind is disconnecting from his body, trying to escape what he’s witnessing. But he can still see and hear _everything,_ even if it’s not really touching him anymore. 

He can tell when Cal breaks a bone, for instance. The punches sound different then, a sickening crack along with the dull thud of metal on skin. 

He can also tell when Gordon passes out. Or maybe he’s dead, Aaron doesn’t really know. But eventually he stops struggling, stops fighting, stops _moving_ and Aaron…

Aaron stops breathing as one tear then two then three streak down his face. 

Cal shakes Gordon’s shoulders, slaps him across the face a few times before he takes out the switchblade he’d shown Aaron, opens it up and slits Gordon’s throat, just like that. Like it’s nothing. 

Like this is all just _nothing._

There’s a buzzing in Aaron’s ears, a haze across his vision as the world around him fazes out. His head dizzy, his body swaying gently from side to side as all his mind can supply is blood. 

There’s so much blood. 

“Take care of him,” Cal says to Jon like Gordon is just a bag of rubbish that needs to be taken out to the bin. And then he’s walking over to where Aaron is still just standing, trying to stop himself from vomiting. 

He’s smiling, Cal is. The warm one he uses when Aaron’s finally shaken off a nightmare. And maybe that’s what this is. Maybe Aaron will wake up and none of this will have ever happened. 

_Maybe…_

“Here,” Cal says as he wipes the knife on his trousers, closes it back up and hands it to Aaron. “Happy birthday.” 

His hand is shaking as he takes the knife from Cal. His _whole body_ is shaking. But he keeps his back straight, keeps his eyes locked on Cal’s because he knows that’s what Cal wants him to do. 

Cal leans down again, and in the moonlight streaming in Aaron can see Gordon’s blood splashed across his face, his clothes, his hair. It’s just _everywhere_ as Cal puts two bloodied hands over the sides of Aaron’s head and tugs him in until their foreheads are touching. 

“I love you, son,” he says as Aaron continues trying to just hold himself together, just for a little longer, until he’s safe at home. And then…

_And then…_

“You’re mine now,” Cal adds, a small hint of a threat in the sincerity of his tone. “All mine.” 

And Aaron thinks _I am, aren’t I?_

He is. 

~*~

Aaron wakes up on the night of his third day in hiding certain of one thing: 

If he doesn’t do something soon, Cal is gonna kill Robert.

It’s such a shocking, all-encompassing realisation that he stumbles off the sofa immediately, intent to head straight through the door and back to… wherever. 

The sound of something metal hitting the floor distracts him, though. But all he can see when he looks down is the shine off of it, almost blinding his eyes because he’s still ten steps past drunk and _everything_ about this moment is just _too much._

He reaches down to pick it up, rolls the lighter around in his hand, remembering what he’d almost done to himself last night. What he’d _wanted to do_ so bad he could taste it, could feel the new scars forming on his skin. And the sound of the mirror over the sideboard shattering when Aaron chucks the lighter at it is one of the most satisfying sounds he’s ever heard. 

_I’m not,_ Aaron thinks, the words coming to him from out of nowhere. But he can’t seem to place them, to figure out what they’re supposed to mean apart from the fact that he’s not… _something._

It doesn’t matter. He has to get out of here. Now. Sober or not, he needs to leave this place. 

He needs to go home.

No more hiding, no more ignoring what’s staring him right in the face, no more bloody _running away._ Because home is the only place he can go anymore and he knows it. 

It’s the only place where he belongs. 


	24. Run Right Back

He’s been watching the house for hours, the chill in the night air making his fingers numb as he holds the binoculars to his face. 

Aaron would laugh at him right now if he could see him, standing out here with the binoculars he bought on the way to the MacFarlane house like he’s some sort of undercover rookie copper. Or, well, Aaron would probably be shouting the odds right now if he’s honest, telling him off for trying to be a sleuth. But that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? 

He’d rather have Aaron here yelling at him than stuck in that house for another moment. 

He’s been here for hours, like he said, and he’s seen people come and go plenty. But it’s never been any of the ones he wants. No Cal, leaving the house unguarded. No Meg, coming to possibly help. 

No Aaron. 

Eventually, he’s just going to have to make a move and he knows it. Go into the house and hope that everyone that lives there already left before his arrival. Everyone except _the one._ Robert’s one. Robert’s _only._ The only person he wants in the whole wide world. Wants to hold. Wants to kiss. Wants to touch. Wants to…

Now he’s just getting away with himself. 

He can see the front door clearly from where he’s standing across the street, tucked down a small alley full of bins and thankfully devoid of nosy neighbours. There’s a gate between here and there, one Robert could probably climb if he’s lucky, and a large, wide lawn where he’d be exposed for far too long. 

It might be better to try a side entrance, go for some place with a bit more cover. But before he can even take one step out of the alley, a hand clasps tightly over his mouth from behind, causing the binoculars to clatter to the ground. 

_This is it,_ he thinks with far less terror than he would’ve expected. _This is where I get murdered._ One of Cal’s henchmen is going to drag him to some undisclosed, secondary location and he’s going to _murder Robert_ before disposing of his body like yesterday’s rubbish. 

He wonders how they’ll do it, his mind racing as whoever’s got him starts dragging him back down the alley. Will it be a long process? A quick one? Painful? Easy? Will he just get a bullet in the head? A knife to the heart? How exactly is the life of Robert Jacob Sugden going to end?

_Not like this,_ he thinks, and with that thought comes a surge of resistance he wasn’t aware he was capable of. Every inch of his body geared toward stopping his movement as he mentally screams _if you want to kill me, you’re going to have to do it right here, arsehole!_

He kicks back into the shin of his captor, hoping for some satisfied grunt of pain. But although he gets his grunt, in the end, it’s not nearly as satisfying as he hoped it would be. 

_Aaron,_ his mind supplies. That sounded very much like his Aaron. A fact only confirmed when Aaron hisses in his ear, “If I let you go, do you promise to keep your mouth shut?” 

Robert nods even though he knows he’s lying. He’d come here to find Aaron and he’s _found him._ Well, technically Aaron found _him,_ but Robert is here, Aaron is here, and somebody has been bloody _found,_ and Robert is going to take that as a victory, thank you very much. 

A victory he goes to share with Aaron as he turns around, ready to embrace him. Only instead he’s met with a dark scowl and a hand clapped back over his mouth. 

“This is just a friendly reminder that you promised to keep your mouth shut,” Aaron says all mardy and, frankly, adorable. And Robert has the insane urge to lick his palm, He would do, actually, if not for the fact that Aaron looks ready to murder him after all. 

Robert nods, puts his hands up in the air in the sign of surrender while Aaron searches his face for evidence of subterfuge before he finally lets him go. 

“There’s a black sedan at the other end of this alley. We’re gonna get in it, and we’re gonna drive somewhere. And until we stop moving, you are not allowed to speak.” 

“Am I allowed to breathe?” he asks, probably a bad decision on his part. But Aaron is here, did he mention that? He cannot even grasp how happy he’s feeling, his stomach actually aching from it as if he ate too many sweets. 

Up until a few minutes ago, he’d thought Aaron was being held prisoner in the veritable fortress across the street. But he’s _here,_ with Robert, glaring at him like it’s a regular Tuesday and Robert just suggested another Marvel movie. And Robert can hardly contain all his _joy_ at every single one of those facts. 

Aaron growls. Like a bear. Like a giant, hungry, grumpy bear before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Robert to follow him. Which Robert has already proven he’s more than willing to do regardless of the given situation. 

_Aaron!_

Robert slides effortlessly into the passenger seat of the black sedan Aaron was talking about, wincing in sympathy at the way Aaron’s face twists in pain as he gets behind the wheel. Which reminds him of something he’s got stuffed in his pocket. 

“Here,” he says once Aaron has shut his door. 

Aaron raises one perfect, gorgeous, not-a-prisoner-after-all eyebrow at him in question before Robert grabs Aaron’s wrist, opens the container, and knocks two pills into Aaron’s palm. 

“You didn’t take them with you when you left,” Robert replies with a shrug. “I figured if I found you, you might need some pain relief.” 

Aaron looks like he’s about two seconds from kissing Robert in gratitude, something he’d more than welcome right now, before he narrows his expression and says, “Don’t talk until we stop driving. I don’t want to crash because I’m yelling at you.” 

He looks angry suddenly, _fuming_ actually. But he still pops the pills in his mouth and swallows them dry before turning on the car. Which Robert will take as a win any day of the week. 

He doesn’t talk. Not because he doesn’t want to. It’s been killing him, not knowing where Aaron was the last couple of days, whether he was taking care of himself, cleaning his stitches, or if he was back in Cult Land being indoctrinated by the Gospel of Cal. 

Robert hates that particular Gospel. And not just because it’s the one where he dies. 

It’s been driving him mad, was his point, but Aaron had asked him to stay quiet. No, Aaron had _ordered_ him to stay quiet. And he still has the image of Aaron bolting out of Paddy’s house fresh in his mind, bolting out of Robert’s own flat as well. So he doesn’t want to give Aaron any ideas when they’re moving at roughly eighty kilometres per hour through the streets of Leeds. 

He looks around the car instead, wonders where Aaron even got it from, if he’d stolen it or borrowed it off some… some… Robert can’t even finish that sentence so he just assumes the car is stolen and shuts his mouth even _more_ because when one is committing a felony by association, one does not push one’s luck. 

Aaron seems to know exactly where he’s going, his turns sharp, the streets unfamiliar as they wind through a part of the city where Robert has never been. One he’d call “seedy” if he weren’t too busy tightening his seatbelt, just in case. 

And then, all of a sudden like everything in their life together has been, they stop. 

Aaron’s got his hands firmly at ten and two, his grip whitening his knuckles as he stares at the empty car park around them. The one smack in the middle of a crumbling complex of flats that look like they’d be more comfortable in the apocalypse than here. But before Robert can open his mouth, Aaron is undoing his seatbelt, wrenching open his door, and storming outside. 

The slam of the door rattles the entire vehicle, Robert included. It’s why he gets out slowly, carefully, his steps measured and tentative as he makes his way to where Aaron is pacing a dozen metres away, his fingers raking through his hair over and over and over again. 

“Aaron,” Robert says quietly as he goes to touch Aaron’s shoulder. But Aaron is turning around, Aaron is _shoving him_ before he can even make contact. 

Robert doesn’t know how he keeps his feet. It’s one of those _by the skin of his teeth_ things or whatever they’re called. But he catches himself just before he falls arse over teakettle onto the asphalt as he stares out at Aaron and waits for the dressing down he’s sure to get any second now. 

“Are you completely mad?!” Aaron finally shouts. No, he _roars._ His voice louder than Robert has ever heard it as unnoticed tears escape his eyes. “You could’ve… if I hadn’t… _how are you this stupid and still alive_?” 

“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” Robert replies indignantly, because really, like Robert is the only one between them that’s ever done something stupid before. 

“A man says he wants to kill you,” Aaron continues, completely disregarding Robert’s very justifiable complaint. “And you what? Try to save the flaming princess?!” 

“Yes!” Robert shouts back because two can play at this game. “That is exactly what I do. Because I love you and I want to keep you safe.” 

“Yeah, well, I love you too and I want to keep _you_ safe!” Aaron screams. A legitimate _scream,_ his voice even sounding hoarse from it. But Robert is too bloody stunned to respond to it because Aaron just said…

Did Aaron just say what he thinks Aaron said? 

“What did you… could you please repeat that?” Robert asks a bit shakily, sticking his fingers in his ears to clean out any gunk that might have impeded his ability to understand what Aaron just violently shouted at him. 

Aaron crosses his arms and glares at Robert. “You heard.” 

“Aaron,” Robert sighs, reaching out to touch his face, to do _anything_ right now that might connect them because he’s never felt so far away from someone that just said they loved him before. 

“No!” Aaron snaps, taking a few steps back. “You’re gonna… you’re gonna _listen to me._ I spent _three days_ trying to drink you away, trying to drink _him_ away,” Aaron says, and Robert doesn’t know if he means Cal or his actual father, but either way, it doesn’t sound pleasant. 

“Three days of drinking and wanting… wanting to hurt myself _so badly_. And I come out the other end just… just wanting to come _home,_ you know?” 

Robert’s heart sinks at that, at the idea that Aaron can say he loves him one second and then tell him he wants to leave him another. 

“But then I get back to Emmerdale,” Aaron continues, causing Robert to whip his sulking head up because Aaron had said _home,_ hadn’t he? So why had he gone to Emmerdale? 

“I go back looking for you only for Paddy to tell me you’d come to storm the flipping Bastille. Do you have any idea how that felt, Robert? He could’ve _killed you,_ and I would’ve been miles away, completely useless.” 

“Why did you go to Emmerdale?” Robert asks, ignoring everything else Aaron just said because _reckless this_ and _in danger that._ Yeah, Robert gets it. He’s an idiot. But Aaron had said home, and then he’d said Emmerdale, and Robert wants to know what that all _means._

Aaron balks at the question, probably because of Robert’s attempt to curb his righteous rage. His eyes blinking unusually fast when he says, “I just said.” 

“No, you said you were going _home,_ and then you said you came to find _me_ , and-”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Aaron, did you mean… did you mean that _I’m_ your home?” 

Aaron tightens his arms around his body at that, his eyes bouncing everywhere, landing on everything but Robert as he shifts from foot to foot and says, “Well yeah. You are. Maybe. I don’t know. If that’s okay with you. You know-”

Robert freezes him mid-sentence with a searing kiss, his hands holding onto Aaron’s face like he’s going to fly away if Robert doesn’t. Which may still be true, who the hell knows anymore. All Robert _does_ know is that Aaron thinks he, Robert, is his _home._ And that…

Well if that’s not the most precious gift anyone could be given, Robert doesn’t know what is. 

They pull out of the kiss and are immediately talking over each other, Robert saying, “I love you,” at the same time that Aaron says, “Cal’s gonna kill you.” 

Talk about a romance killer. 

“Yeah, he said that. I remember,” Robert says before kissing Aaron once on the tip of his nose just because he can and pulling away. 

He still holds Aaron’s hands as he does it, though. Because there’s no way he’s letting Aaron bolt again. 

“No, but I mean,” Aaron starts before stopping again, biting his lip like he’s trying to figure out the best way to say this. And that, right there, makes Robert’s heart rate kick up a few dozen notches because if Aaron doesn’t want to tell him, then it can’t be good news. 

“I realized something,” he tries again, looking to Robert like he just wishes Robert could fill in the blanks for him. But this isn’t one of those moments. Aaron needs to tell Robert what the hell he means. He’s the only one that can. 

“When you were spending three days getting drunk,” Robert supplies by way of encouragement. 

“Yeah. I realized that… that he won’t stop. That it doesn’t matter what I do. If I leave you alone or stay with you or anything in between, he’s _still gonna kill you._ I don’t… I don’t think he cares at this point. I’m not sure he ever did and frankly… well, frankly I’m sorta surprised he hasn’t done it yet.” 

Well that just makes Robert feel absolutely _terrific,_ like he’s been living on borrowed time for weeks and never even knew it. 

“So what do we do?” Robert asks, because clearly the answer isn’t just _stand in this car park forever and hope for the best._

Oh god, he hopes that’s not the answer. 

Thankfully, it’s not. But what comes out of Aaron’s mouth next is just about the last thing he ever thought Aaron would say to him. 

“We run.” 

Robert almost chokes on his tongue. 

“Come again?” he asks.

But Aaron doesn’t answer him. He just picks the nuclear option instead and says, “Look, if you don’t want me to come with you, I don’t have to.” 

Robert laughs at that because… well, because it’s bloody _funny_. Hilarious, in fact. His laughter still coating his voice as he asks, “Do you honestly think _that’s_ the problem I’m having right now?”

Aaron tugs his hands out of Robert’s, backs off a few steps, and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Then what is the problem?”

Robert meets every single step Aaron took, and then takes another step so that their bodies are practically touching when Robert says, “Aaron, if you’d said this to me a few weeks ago, I’d have my bags packed right now. Hell, I was the one who asked you to run away first and your response was to act like I was insane and break up with me.”

“So pretend the last few weeks didn’t happen.” 

Robert sighs. “Yeah, but they _did._ And they’re giving me the feeling that you’re hiding something.” 

Aaron retreats another few steps and does that ping pong thing with his eyes again. “Like what?” 

“Like why, all of a sudden, you’ve done a complete one-eighty on the runner thing. Are you planning on ditching me somewhere? Getting me out of the country and then running right back here into the fold?” 

Aaron gives him a look like he’s crazy, which normally would irk Robert. But right now, it feels like a comfort, as do Aaron’s words when he replies, “Why would I do that?” 

“I don’t know, Aaron. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I…” He starts to say before trailing off, incapable of or unwilling to finish the sentence. 

Robert pushes him, both physically when he walks up to Aaron and runs his hands along the sides of Aaron’s neck and verbally when he challenges, “Because you what?” 

“Because I meant what I said, alright? I _love_ you, and I don’t want you to die. And this is the only way I can think of keeping you safe - getting you as far away from Cal as possible.”

“And you’re alright with that?” Robert asks because he has to know. He has to look Aaron in the eyes so he can _know._ “Leaving him?” 

Aaron shrugs, which is oh so comforting. 

“That’s all I get in response from you? A shrug? You’re planning to leave the man who has been like a father to you for the past ten years, the man who _saved your life_ , the man that’s done his best to make you think he’s a bloody god? You’re just going to leave that for me? That’s what you want me to believe?” 

Aaron mumbles something under his breath that Robert can’t hear. So he asks, “What was that?” 

Aaron rolls his eyes at him, but he doesn’t move back this time. He stands firm when he replies, “I said that _you_ saved my life too, okay? Being with you… it’s saved my life, Robert. I can see that now. And I know I’m not perfect and I know I don’t deserve you and I know I’m asking you to toss your whole life into the bin, but _I want you to come with me._ I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.” 

There’s no possible way on this green earth that Robert isn’t going to kiss him after that. So he does. He lets himself fall into Aaron’s body, lets them form to one another, Aaron’s arms just as tight around his waist as Robert’s are around his shoulders as he presses his tongue into Aaron’s mouth and tastes every inch he can reach. 

Aaron wants him. Aaron really, truly, honestly _wants him._ And Robert… well, Robert can’t think of anything better in the entire world. 

~*~

Robert makes Aaron stop at a chemist on the way to the nearest hotel they can find. And five minutes after he hops out of Aaron’s new mystery vehicle, he’s hopping back in with a bag of condoms and lube. Because they both decided rather emphatically that they’re not going to be leaving whatever bed they can find anytime soon. 

Everyone knows the best part of breaking up is the makeup sex, right? 

He honestly cannot believe this is actually happening. In his head, in his wildest dreams, he _maybe_ thought if he could lock Aaron in a room for a year or two, he might be able to deprogram him from all of Cal’s rubbish. But for Aaron to come to _him,_ for Aaron to try and save _him_ , for Aaron to _want to run away with him -_ that’s _stars aligning_ levels of good luck that is. 

It’s all put on the back burner for now, though, as they fall through the door of their new hideout, their hands already pawing at each other’s clothes, shedding layers as they stumble towards the bed, wrapped up in each other like they’re supposed to be. 

Aaron’s lips haven’t left his since they entered the room, making removing Aaron’s t-shirt all but impossible as they finally make it to the bed, otherwise blissfully naked. But the kiss is finally broken when Aaron falls on top of Robert and rears back so he can hiss in pain. 

“I’m sorry,” Robert says breathlessly as he rolls them as gently as possible, resting Aaron on his back as Robert lies down beside him, hovering over him as far away from Aaron’s wound as he can get while still keeping them connected. “Are you okay?” 

“‘M fine,” Aaron mumbles before wriggling out of his t-shirt, completing the nakedness package so he can grab Robert around the back of the neck and drag them together. 

Aaron’s never been this desperate before, he’s never made Robert feel this _wanted_ before, his hands seemingly everywhere on Robert’s body as he sucks on Robert’s tongue and holds him tight. And all Robert can think is the word _love,_ how this is what love must look like for Aaron, and how he can’t wait to see all the other ways love looks from the amazing man lying beneath him. 

“I want to ride you, yeah?” Robert asks once Aaron stops kissing him senseless. 

He’s still lying there, half underneath Robert, but his eyes are glistening now, shining like some sort of anime character, his lips red and bitten, a sheen of sweat on his brow. And all Robert can think is _you’re bloody gorgeous_ as he trails his fingers gently down Aaron’s jaw and waits for Aaron to tell him what he wants. 

He nods, accepting Robert’s offer. And a second later Robert is off the bed, collecting the bag of supplies they’d discarded by the door on their way in. 

He’s back on the bed in record time, straddling Aaron’s hips. But when Aaron leans up to take the lube from him, Robert just pulls it out of his reach. 

“You just lie back and rest, okay? Let me do all the heavy lifting.” 

There’s a look in Aaron’s eyes when Robert says that, something close to admiration, awe maybe even. And if Robert wasn’t sure he was in love before this moment, he certainly would be now. 

They’re going to run away together. This, right here, is going to be Robert’s life for as long as Aaron will have him. He can hardly believe how lucky he is to be able to say that. 

He tries to prep himself as quickly as he can, impatient as he is to have Aaron inside of him. But for once it’s Aaron making sure that he doesn’t get hurt, his voice gentle yet firm when he says, “No. More,” when Robert tries to short change himself on the preparations. 

He leans down, feeling the heavy heat of his and Aaron’s cocks rubbing together as he moans into Aaron’s mouth, kissing him for all he’s worth because just that little consideration has somehow made Robert feel more taken care of than he ever has before in any relationship up to and including his marriage. 

He sinks his fingers back inside of himself, works three all the way in before both he and Aaron are too antsy to wait any longer. And then he rolls the condom onto Aaron, slicks him up with lube, and sits down slowly until he’s resting flush against Aaron’s hips. 

It feels _amazing._ No, more than amazing. It feels _incredible, remarkable,_ **_unbelievable_ **as he rises up until just Aaron’s tip is inside of him before sinking down again. His movements not quite as methodical as he’d like them to be because the pleasure of it all is just a bit too much to handle. 

“I love you,” he says as he rocks back and forth onto Aaron. “I love you, I love you, _I love you._ ” And he does. He honestly _does._ And now that Aaron loves him back, what could possibly go wrong? 

What could possibly go wrong? 

Aaron wraps his hand around his cock a minute later, stroking Robert in time to his movements. And in one of those _meant to be_ kismet sort of moments, they both come at the exact same time. Tipping over the edge together before Robert narrowly misses collapsing onto Aaron’s wound as he sinks back to the bed. 

It’s quiet for a minute, nothing but the sound of their ragged breaths as they just lie beside one another, staring at the ceiling. And then, in the quietest voice he’s ever heard Aaron use, he says, “I love you too, you know,” like Robert has somehow forgotten his declaration in the car park. 

Robert’s _never_ going to forget his declaration in the car park. 

“I know,” Robert says just as softly, reaching between them to clasp their hands together. His voice lighter than that of someone who’s under the threat of murder should ever be as he repeats, “I know,” because for the first time, he does. 

Robert knows. 

~*~

They go again about a half hour later, with Robert on top again, buried deep inside of Aaron. Then they go a third time in the shower, with Aaron pressed against the wall, the hot water making Robert dizzy. And then, after all of it, they collapse in bed together, with Robert as the big spoon, holding tight to Aaron lest he disappear the second Robert closes his eyes. 

“I want to be happy,” Aaron says into the quiet of the room, the clock just ticking over to four a.m. as they continue to fight the pull of exhaustion they’re both no doubt feeling. “I want that more than anything.” 

Robert smiles, pressing his lips to the back of Aaron’s neck before saying, “I’ll help ya,” because he will. He’ll do _anything_ to make sure that Aaron is safe and happy and loved, if it’s the last thing he does. 

“It’s not gonna be easy,” Aaron continues, his voice more solemn now, less positive. “Getting out. We’re gonna need new passports, for one.” 

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Robert says a bit shakily as he thinks of the implications behind leaving the country under a false name.

Aaron rolls over in Robert’s arms so he can look him in the eye when he says, “Cal’s not just gonna let us go. He has friends in the police, interpol. If we get on a plane as us, he’ll find us, and then he’ll…” He trails off there, letting Robert fill in the rest of the blanks. 

_He’ll kill me._

“That’s all well and good, Aaron, but it’s not like we can just pop down to the shop and buy a couple of fake passports.”

Aaron smiles like he thinks Robert’s concerns are cute, the wanker. His tone a bit more confident now as he says, “I have a friend. Matt. He used to work for Cal as a forger. I’m sure he’ll do it for us.” 

_Matt._ Of course. 

“What if he tells Cal?” Robert asks, remembering how scared and defiant Matt had been when he’d first met him, something he still hasn’t told Aaron about. He’d been afraid of Cal hassling him, so for all they know, he could use the passports as leverage to get Cal off his back once and for all. 

“Then our chances of getting out will at least be the same as they’d be with our actual passports.” 

Robert settles a bit further into his pillow, taking Aaron’s hands in his own before asking his next question. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

Aaron shuffles a bit. “I told you. He’s going to kill you, I’m sure of it. And if you died because of me… Robert, if you died _because of me,_ I’d never be able to forgive myself.” 

“Aaron, there’s something I need to tell you,” he says, Aaron’s words shaking something loose in Robert’s head, something about Jackson, and the rumours surrounding his death. 

But Robert finds that he can’t get up the courage to actually tell Aaron any of that, to pour any more guilt onto shoulders already weighed down heavily with it. So when Aaron says, “What?” Robert can only respond with, “I met Matt.” 

“You what?” 

“I met Matt,” Robert replies after a deep, calming breath. “Meg gave me his address. The last few days… I’ve spent them looking for you.”

“Well, what… what did he say?” Aaron asks, his voice shaking a bit now like he’s scared of the secrets that Matt might hold. 

And maybe Robert can’t bring up Jackson, but he can bring up something else. 

“He said you wanted him to hurt you.” 

Aaron is sitting up instantly, pulling his hands out of Robert’s and moving to the edge of the bed, his back completely to Robert as Robert says, “Aaron, please don’t shut down on me. I just want to understand.”

“Understand what?” he snaps as he looks over his shoulder into Robert’s eyes. “What a freak I am?” 

“No, of course not,” he says as he moves to the edge of the bed himself, settling as close to Aaron as Aaron will likely allow right now. 

“I just want to know what it meant, if it…” He takes another deep breath and finishes, “If it was self-harm.” 

Aaron drops his head so that his chin is practically resting on his chest before nodding, once. And that’s all the answer Robert needs. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. 

He’s expecting Aaron to say no, expecting Aaron to get to his feet and run actually. Which is why he’s almost knocked over by shock when Aaron says, “There used to be these guys, on Lower Briggate. They’d… well, it was rough. Violent. No prep.” 

Robert feels bile rise up the back of his throat as he imagines Aaron, shoved against some random wall, while… _this_ was done to him. 

“I’ll kill them,” Robert grits out, even though he knows the likelihood of even finding a single one of them again is slim to none. 

“It was consensual,” Aaron says as he looks up at Robert again, his voice desperate like he’s actually worried about the scum he used to hook up with. “None of them raped me. I wanted… I wanted it.” 

He sounds unsure at the end, a fact only further proven by the tears tracking down his face. 

Robert wants to argue with him, wants to say that all things being equal, if Aaron hadn't been repeatedly raped by his own father, he never would’ve _wanted_ something like this. But Robert isn’t a counselor, he’s got no clue how to talk his way around something like this. And so he takes a gamble in placing his arm around Aaron’s shoulders and, when he’s not shrugged off, he pulls him into his body. 

“You’ve stopped doing it, yeah?” Robert asks, once again afraid of the answer he’s going to be given. 

Aaron just nods against his chest, his body shaking slightly from the sobs starting to surface as he whispers, “I haven’t done it since we started seeing each other.” 

Robert breathes a sigh of relief at that.

“And you’ll tell me if you feel like doing it again? _Any_ of it?” 

Aaron hesitates at that one, his body locking up in a way that tells Robert that his nod of assent is a bit farther from the truth than Robert would like. 

It’s enough for now, though. They’re going to have plenty of time together, years and years and _years._ They don’t need to solve all of their problems right here and now. 

So Robert leads Aaron back under the covers, spoons him again like the last half hour didn’t even happen, and lets his breathing sync up to Aaron’s as they both drift off to sleep. 

~*~

“Matt says he can have the passports ready in three days,” Aaron says over breakfast the next morning, a piece of buttered toast in one hand and Robert’s phone in the other. 

“That was fast,” Robert comments around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “You just texted him, what? An hour ago?” 

Aaron shrugs before handing the mobile back to Robert. “He owes me.” 

_Why?_ Robert wants to ask. But he’d asked enough questions last night. Today it’s up to Aaron to share things off his own bat. 

So instead, he says, “So what are we going to do for the next three days? Because as much as I’d like to spend them here, having my wicked way with you, I don’t think it’s wise to stay in Leeds any longer than we have to.” 

Aaron shakes his head emphatically. “You’re right, it’s not. I don’t really have any places we can go where Cal won’t know to look for me, though.”

“I have an idea,” Robert says, and it feels like something surges inside of him when the words come out of his mouth. Because really, the answer is obvious. 

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not gonna like your idea?” Aaron asks suspiciously. 

“Maybe because I’m going to say we should spend the next three days in Emmerdale?” 

“No,” Aaron replies adamantly, getting immediately to his feet and pacing the area at the end of the bed, a common reaction for him. 

“Aaron, just hear me out.” 

“I don’t want to… to _see them,_ Robert. You know that.” 

“I do,” Robert says as he gets to his feet, stopping Aaron mid-pace and holding his shoulders as tightly as he’s willing to push. “But for all I know, I’m leaving the country forever. And I’m not saying I don’t want to do that,” he adds when Aaron opens his mouth to argue with him. “Because I do. I’m ready to go _anywhere_ with you. But I wouldn’t say no to a chance to say goodbye to my family before we go.” 

Aaron stares at him, biting his bottom lip, his fists clenched in the front of Robert’s jumper as he says, “But what if he finds us there?” 

“He didn’t before, did he? There’s no reason to think he will now.” 

Aaron continues to just stare at him, chewing on his lip in a way that’ll draw blood if he keeps it up, his eyes wet with unshed tears that Robert just wants to kiss away as they stand there in silence for a few minutes at least, just watching each other, before Aaron finally nods. 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t add to his agreement at all. But Robert can still feel his skin warming at Aaron’s assent because they’re going back to Emmerdale. And even if it’s just to say goodbye, it means another few days where Robert can finally be home. And that? 

Well, apart from his love, that’s the most amazing gift Aaron has ever given him. 


	25. Countdown

Aaron is a very good liar. 

He’s also not naive enough to think this plan could actually work, that they’d be able to skip the country and live out their lives happily somewhere else. 

That Cal would ever let them be together. 

It’s a mug’s game, the whole lot of it. So it’s a good thing that in the end, Aaron isn’t the one that needs to believe it. He just needs to make sure Robert does. He needs to make it through their three days in Emmerdale, get Robert on the plane, and then…

Aaron can’t let himself think of the _and then._ He’s already starting to miss the idiot and they haven’t even gotten back to Robert’s car yet. 

“You know, I was wondering,” Robert asks as he runs his hand lazily along the dashboard. “Whose car is this anyway?” 

“My mum’s,” Aaron says below his breath in the hopes that Robert won’t actually hear his admission. 

“What was that, Mumbles?” 

Aaron grits his teeth before grinding out, “I said it were me mum’s.” 

Robert turns in his seat very slowly, comically almost, a look of pure shock on his face as he asks, “You’re kidding me?” 

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Aaron fires back defensively. “You had Paddy’s car and yours reeks.” 

“Whose fault is that?” Robert replies before twisting his face up in remorse. “Sorry. That was insensitive. I was just a little shocked that you’d go to your mum, seeing as how you hate her n’all.” 

Aaron rolls his shoulders and keeps his eyes locked in front of him. “Yeah, well, it weren’t like I was gonna take the bus to come and rescue you, and I don’t know anybody else in that village.”

“So you talked to your mum, who you hate, for me,” Robert says quietly in a way that makes Aaron’s skin crawl. 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. I was a half second away from calling for a taxi, to hell with the extra forty-five minute wait.” 

“You love me, really,” Robert teases, totally not getting the point as he punches Aaron lightly in the arm.

“You said it first,” Aaron grumbles. 

“And you said it anyway. I have to think I’m the winner here.” 

Aaron looks to the side briefly, regretting it immediately when he’s almost literally blinded by Robert’s smile. 

God, he’s gonna miss him. 

“So what did you talk about?” Robert asks next, snapping Aaron out of his maudlin thoughts. 

“You what?” 

“You and your mum. When you went to get her car. What did you talk about?” 

Aaron looks at Robert again, this time so he can raise an eyebrow and show him just how stupid he thinks the question is before answering it. 

“We didn’t talk about anything. I asked her for her keys, she gave them to me, and I left.” 

“She just gave you her car keys?” 

“Yeah.” 

“After not seeing you for over a decade and a half?” 

“Yeah. What’s the problem?” 

Robert laughs before settling back into his seat. “I don’t know. It just seems like a pretty big ask for that long of a time. Almost like she was trying to apologize or something.” 

“Don’t,” Aaron warns as the hairs on his arms begin to prick up. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t start talking her up, making her seem like… like someone who cares about me. Even if she thinks she does, I’ve got no interest in it, alright?”

“Alright,” Robert says, his tone sounding very much like that of someone who’s telling the truth. Which is probably why Aaron’s spidey sense is tingling. 

Oh god. He’s calling it his spidey sense. Shoot him now. 

“What do you mean ‘Alright’?” Aaron asks if only to steer away from the unwanted geek-fest playing out inside his head. 

“I mean exactly what I said, Aaron. If you’ve got no interest in seeing your mum, I’ve got no interest in trying to convince you to. You’re not the only one with crappy parents, you know.” 

Robert freezes completely, his eyes widening in shock but a different kind this time as he stares at Aaron with trembling lips. 

“I’m so… Aaron, god, I’m _so sorry._ I didn’t… I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” Aaron interrupts before Robert can beat himself up any further. “I know what you meant and it’s _fine._ Just because my dad was… my dad, that doesn’t mean you don’t get to hate your dad as well.” 

“But he never-”

“I know!” Aaron butts in again, desperate not to hear Robert finish that sentence. “I know. But it’s fine. Can we just… just drop it?” 

Robert nods, finally able to move again. And Aaron takes another turn back in the direction of where Robert left Paddy’s car parked. 

“So where are we going to go?” Robert asks by way of changing the subject. 

“I thought we were picking up Paddy’s car and heading back to Emmerdale?” 

Emmerdale, also known as _just about the last place Aaron wants to be_. But it’s not about him. This whole thing is about Robert, about making sure these next few days are perfect _for him._ So if he wants to go to Emmerdale, then so does Aaron. 

Robert laughs at him, but it’s the gentle one, the one that always matches his flaming heart eyes completely. 

“No, I mean where are we going to _go,_ when we leave?” 

“Oh,” Aaron says as another sharp stab of guilt catches him right in the gut. “I don’t know. I’m not fussed.” 

Robert turns fully in his seat, likely to get a better look at Aaron when he says, “You’re not fussed about where you’re going to live for the rest of your life?” 

“It’s not for the rest of my life,” Aaron says before he can catch himself. But Robert is quick enough to catch him. Which is why his face starts to crumble a little before Aaron corrects with, “I mean we can always move again if we don’t like where we end up. And really, as long as it’s not here, I’m good.” 

Robert stares at him for a second, studying him briefly before shrugging and saying, “Well, I’m thinking some place warm. Spain, maybe. What do you reckon?” 

“Spain sounds good,” Aaron says truthfully, because if he were about to run away for real with Robert, Spain would definitely be on his Top Five list of destinations. 

Good food. Sunny beaches. Tan lines in all the right places. 

He really wishes he could see that someday. 

“And don’t worry about money,” Robert adds, shaking Aaron out of his unhelpful thoughts yet again. “I doubt I’ll get a severance package after disappearing for almost a month, but I’ve got more than enough in savings to keep us afloat until we find jobs. Which reminds me, what did you want to be when you were little? I’m sure _drug courier_ wasn’t really on the list.” 

_Somebody else,_ Aaron thinks. The only thing he wanted to be was somebody other than him. But he lies and says, “I don’t know. I always liked cars, I guess. Wouldn’t mind working on them for a living,” because Robert needs an answer that will keep him afloat. And Aaron is going to do everything in his power to make sure that happens. 

He just has to last three more days. 

“I could see you in some overalls,” Robert says with a smirk as he tracks his eyes down Aaron’s body, a common enough occurrence that still lights Aaron’s skin on fire every single time. 

“I’ll bet you could,” Aaron replies with his own half smile because he just can’t help it. And just like that, they both get lost in the fantasy, trapped in their own heads as they turn down the alley where Robert parked Paddy’s SUV. 

“See you back in Emmerdale,” Robert says as he removes his seatbelt and leans over to kiss Aaron once on the lips. 

“See you there,” he replies. And within seconds, he’s alone again. 

He might as well get used to it now. 

~*~

Robert follows him the whole way back to Emmerdale, which is impressive given that Aaron has always been an erratic driver. But even when he passes no fewer than five people along the way, some at breakneck speeds, Robert is right there with him, guarding his back. And Aaron wishes he could tell him how much he appreciates that. 

He wishes he could tell Robert a lot of things. 

Robert keeps up, though, until they’re back at Paddy’s, leaning against Paddy’s car and staring out into a field that seems vastly more peaceful than the roiling pit inside of Aaron. 

“You want to come in with me?” Robert asks, his voice quiet to match their surroundings. 

Aaron shakes his head reluctantly and points at Chas’ sedan. “Naw. I better get that back to me mum.”

Robert turns so that his side is now rested against the car instead of his back, his face concerned as he responds, “Don’t you want me to come with you for that?” 

“I am capable of doing things on me own, you know,” Aaron says bitterly as he kicks at the ground beneath his feet while shoving his hands deep into his pockets. 

“Of course you are. I know that. It’s just… sometimes a little moral support can help.” 

“I’m not going over there to have some big chat, Robert. I’m giving her the keys and I’m leaving. End of.” 

Before Robert can respond, Aaron is pushing himself off Paddy’s car and heading over to his mother’s. Just as he’s climbing in, though, Robert shouts, “Good luck!” 

He looks at where Robert’s standing, an expression of hope and faith etched into his face, and he really can’t help but love the bones of him. So he smiles, even though it feels like the last thing he wants to do, waves a hand in gratitude and closes the door. 

It’s a short drive around to the back of the pub, far shorter than Aaron needs right now. So he turns the car off and just sits there for a bit, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. 

_She’s nothing to you,_ he reminds himself. She’s just a woman he used to know, one who abandoned him, left him with the worst kind of monster, and treated him like garbage on the rare occasions where they got to see each other. He shouldn’t think of her as his mum. He shouldn’t think of her as _anything._

But he still remembers those years after she left, before Gordon got really bad, crying himself to sleep because he missed her. Because she was _his._ For eight years she was all his until the day she realized she didn’t want him anymore. 

Anger flares up inside of him, the feeling comforting, like an old friend as he gets out of the car and heads into the back of the pub like he owns the place. But when he steps into the empty back room, everything inside of him deflates. 

There’s a picture on one of the cabinets that draws his attention immediately. It’s of him, a much younger version of him, one Aaron doesn’t even entirely recognize. But it’s placed right in the center of the main shelf like it’s somehow important. 

The other frames are dusty, he notices upon inspection, like they’ve been sitting there for ages, untouched. But the one of him looks clean, like someone has been picking it up, putting it down. _Holding it._ And all of a sudden Aaron feels like he’s gonna be sick. 

_No,_ he tells himself. There’s nothing for him here. There never was. Which is why he goes outside and heads around to the front of the pub because if he belongs anywhere in this place, it’s there. With a bar and a crowd of people between him and the woman who claims to be his mum. 

He tracks her immediately behind the bar. She’s talking to someone, a man with dark hair that looks familiar to Aaron. And when he realizes it’s his uncle Cain, he almost runs from the pub entirely. 

But if there’s one thing that Aaron isn’t, it’s a coward. And so he squeezes the keys in his hand, centering himself around the pain, and walks up to the edge of the bar. 

“Sweetie!” Chas gasps. _Chas,_ not _mum._ “You’re back!” 

“I just came by to give you these,” he says, holding the keys out for her and setting them on the bar eventually when she proves to be too frozen to take them. “Thanks.” 

“Do-you-want-to-come-through-to-the-back?” she blurts out like it’s one long word before he can walk away. “I, um, I can get Diane to cover me. We could catch up?” 

“No, I’m good. I’ve gotta meet Robert,” he replies, another lie in a day already full of them. 

“Tea, then!” she shouts louder than is necessary. “Cain here was saying that he’d love to come over for tea tonight. Why don’t you join us?” 

“Wha-” Cain starts to ask, but before he can get to the “t,” Chas cuts him a look so sharp Aaron is surprised he isn’t bleeding. 

“Yeah, right. Tea,” he says tonelessly, looking at Aaron like he’s trying to figure out all his darkest secrets with just a glance, not unlike the way Cal used to look at him. Which does nothing to increase his comfort level as Chas continues blathering in the background. 

“I can make my shepherd's pie. You used to love my shepherd’s pie.” 

“Yeah, well that was a long time ago,” Aaron says quietly, caught between wanting to tell her off and not wanting to hurt her feelings like he’s twenty-six and eight all at the same time. 

“Well what better way to bridge the gap then!” Chas says brightly. And Aaron…

He needs to get out of here. 

“No thanks. I’ve got other plans,” he says, having to physically snap his mouth shut to stop himself from adding the polite but deadly, “Maybe some other time.” And before she can say anything else, he’s turning around and heading back out the door. 

He’s breathing heavily by the time he steps outside, his head dizzy from it, his eyes going black around the edges as his limbs weigh him down like lead balloons. And all he can think is, _I’m gonna pass out._ Right here. Outside the pub. He’s _going to pass out._ That is until he hears a familiar voice from off to his left. 

“You look a bit lost, sailor,” Robert’s voice drifts to him. “Everything alright?” 

Aaron looks over to see Robert sitting at one of the picnic tables in front of the pub, his back leaning against the table itself and his legs outstretched in front of him like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

That’s only what his body language is saying, though. In his eyes, Aaron can see worry, a little bit of fear, and a whole boatload of concern that he seems to save for Aaron and Aaron alone.

It immediately calms Aaron down. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over and takes a seat next to Robert, close enough to feel his warmth bleeding through their clothes. 

Robert leans back so he can look up at the cloudy sky. “Taking in a little sun.” 

He pauses for a minute before looking at Aaron, who is clearly waiting for a real response. One that causes Robert to sigh before he says, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Sue me.” 

“Well, I’m fine,” Aaron responds, but he totally disproves that notion when he butts his shoulder into Robert’s armpit in a very clear demand for Robert to put his arm around him. 

He does. Of course he does. He’s Robert, after all. And Aaron is very glad for that right now as he turns his body so he can practically burrow into Robert’s side. 

“So what happened then?” Robert asks, not pushy, just curious. Which is probably why Aaron is willing to answer him. 

“She invited me over for tea.” 

“Ah,” Robert sighs again. “Ye olde olive branch.”

“Whatever. I said no. Told her I had plans.” 

Robert tugs Aaron in a bit more and whispers into his ear, “And let me guess. I’m plans?” 

A surprised bark of laughter bursts out of Aaron’s chest at the cheesy line. His voice still full of flaming mirth when he elbows Robert in the side and tells him to, “Shut up.”

“You love it, really,” Robert says, the smugness apparent even in his voice. And Aaron thinks _I love_ ** _you_** because he does. 

So much. 

Which just makes what he’s gonna have to do that much harder. 

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he gives a little shiver from the cold Spring air, tucks himself further into Robert, and asks, “So where are we staying anyway?” 

Robert huffs in response. “This is your plan, Aaron. I thought you had all the details sorted out.”

Aaron pinches Robert’s side just shy of too hard, loving the way his body reacts, and says, “You were the one who wanted to come to Emmerdale.”

He can feel Robert’s fond smile in the way he runs his fingers through Aaron’s hair. “True. I asked Paddy if we could have our room back for a few days.” 

Aaron tips his head up to look Robert in the eye. “And he said yes?” 

Robert shrugs. “Why wouldn’t he?” 

“Because it’s not like we were the best guests before. I mean, you brought me there covered in blood in the middle of the night.” 

Robert runs his hand through Aaron’s hair again, tugging a little on the longer strands on top before saying, “Paddy’s a good bloke. He’s just trying to help. Plus, I think he’s still got a thing for your mum.” 

Aaron scrunches his face up in revulsion. “Still?” 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Robert asks faux innocently. “He and your mom used to be an item.” 

“An item? Jesus, what are you, eighty?” 

“What do you want me to say, Aaron? That he and your mum used to shag like rabbits? Does that make you feel better?” 

Aaron swallows a little bit of bile that’s trying to sneak up his throat before responding, “Yeah, you’re right. That’s worse.” 

“Exactly,” he says with a kiss to the top of Aaron’s head. “They were an item. Not for long, mind. They didn’t really click that way, I guess. But he’s been chasing her around ever since.”

“So I guess our free room is gonna come with some ear-bending as well then, eh?” Aaron asks with mild disdain. 

“Probably. We could go somewhere else if you’d like. The B&B is nice. Well, it’s not _nice._ It’s old and tacky and full of tat, but it’s a different room if you want it.”

Aaron moves in closer to Robert’s body, pressing his arm up under Robert’s jumper to try and steal some of his body heat. 

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “It’s only for three days.” And that’s the rub of it, innit? They only have to spend three days here. How bad could it be? 

“So since you haven’t got supper plans elsewhere,” Robert says almost shyly, a rare emotion on him. 

“Nice segue,” Aaron retorts. 

“Thanks. I’ve been thinking it up since you sat down.” 

“I’ll bet you have. So go on. Since I don’t have supper plans elsewhere?”

“Well,” Robert starts, even shyer than before. “My sister kind of knows I’m back again.”

“Again?” Aaron asks, but Robert just plows straight through. 

“Since she knows I’m back, she sort of invited me and my boyfriend for tea tonight.” 

“Your boyfriend?!” Aaron asks as he tries to sit up so he can glare at Robert properly. 

Robert just holds him steady, though, keeps him pressed to his body as he says, “Yeah I kind of freaked out on her when you bolted. Might have told her some things… a lot of things… sorry.” 

“S’okay,” Aaron says reluctantly. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” he lies because what's the point in arguing this? In a couple days they’ll both be gone, and if things work out the way Aaron hopes they do, neither one of them will ever be coming back. 

“So tea?” Robert asks again. 

It’s Aaron’s turn to shrug. “Sure, why not.” 

“Excellent!” Robert exclaims as he kisses Aaron’s head again. And then he’s getting up off the bench, which doesn't go along with anything Aaron wants to do right now. 

“What are you doing?” Aaron groans in complaint as Robert pops up and holds out a hand for Aaron. 

“Come on, we’ve got an errand to run first.” 

Aaron takes his hand and lets Robert pull him to his feet, but only because Robert is smiling and he looks quite fit when he does that. 

“An errand?” Aaron asks in full grouchy mode as he shoves his hands in his pockets now that Robert’s warmth has been stolen from him. 

“Yeah,” Robert says, wrapping his arm over Aaron’s shoulders and pulling him in again. “We’re going into Hotten. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of wearing Paddy’s Greatest Hits.” 

~*~

There’s one thing Aaron doesn’t need to lie about: he missed wearing a hoodie and jeans. 

Robert had insisted on getting him a deep blue hoodie because it _brought out his eyes. Whatever,_ Aaron had thought. Robert was buying, so what did Aaron care? Because just slipping into those clothes, whatever the colour, made Aaron feel like a real person for the first time since he got shot, maybe even longer. And that was worth more than the colour blue. 

It was nice of Paddy to buy them clothes, especially given that Aaron’s only outfit upon arrival was drenched in blood. But he’s so sick of plain white t-shirts and itchy jumpers that he would have gone mad if not for Robert’s impromptu shopping trip. 

“You sure I can’t convince you to wear that green jumper?” Robert coaxes, slipping his arms around Aaron’s waist from behind. 

“No offense to your green jumper, but you may never get me out of this hoodie again,” Aaron replies, tipping his head to allow Robert access to his neck as he pulls the sleeves of the softest article of clothing he’s ever owned over his hands. 

“Is that a dare?” Robert all but growls in his ear. 

“Not if you want to be on time for tea at your sister’s.” 

“You’re right,” Robert replies sadly. But when he goes to pull away, Aaron grabs his arms and wraps them tighter around his waist. 

“Being on time is overrated,” he says as he looks back over his shoulder to catch Robert’s eye, a thrill chasing up his spine when he sees the hunger staring back at him. 

Aaron makes the decision then and there that if these are the last few days he’s gonna have with Robert, he’s damn well gonna live every second of them. Starting with getting Robert out of his new button-down and going from there. 

One hour later they’re forty-five minutes late for their supper plans and Aaron is starting to feel nerves for the first time since this morning at his… at Chas’. 

It seems that Robert can sense that, judging by the way he reaches down and takes Aaron’s hand in his own, not even balking at the fact that Aaron’s is coated in a thin layer of sweat. 

His expression is warm and comforting as he leans in to peck Aaron on the cheek before saying, “There’s nothing to be nervous about, I swear. And I promise you that the second you want to leave, we’re right back out this door, okay? No pressure.”

Aaron nods his head, the words _no pressure_ lightening some of the load up there as he leans up and silently asks for another kiss. 

Robert smiles at him before leaning down to press their lips together, the kiss chaste but still exactly what Aaron needs right now as Robert’s lips send a warm, liquid pulse spreading through Aaron’s veins. 

“You ready?” Robert asks when he pulls back, squeezing Aaron’s hand for effect. And Aaron nods again, because even if he isn’t ready, he can still pretend. 

He’s good at that, remember? 

Somewhere between Robert’s third and fourth knock, the door is whipped open in front of them. And either Robert’s sister is rather tall and hairy, or Aaron is looking at Robert’s brother-in-law, Adam.

“Mate! It’s good to see ya,” Adam says jovially. That’s the only word Aaron can think to describe him. _Jovial._

“Yeah, sorry we’re late,” Robert says awkwardly, a rare but attractive look on him. “We got a bit… um… sidetracked.” 

“Dirty dogs,” Adam replies with a light punch to Robert’s stomach that still makes him double over and groan. “It’s no bother. Vic’s just finishing up the food now.” 

As if the mere mention of her name has summoned her, Robert’s sister comes barreling through the kitchen door, making a beeline straight for Aaron.

He doesn’t have a chance to defend himself before Vic is flinging her body into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his neck and all but screeching, “Aaron! It’s so good to finally meet you!” directly into his ear.

It’s a bit of an overload if he’s honest. 

“Vic!” Robert reprimands as he unwinds Aaron from his petite but deadly sister. “You trying to scare him off? I told you to act normal.” 

“Since when is this,” Adam says as he waves his arms at the way Vic is putting herself back together in front of them, “not normal?” 

“Adam!” Vic snaps, smacking him in the side of his arm. 

“What, babe? Everyone knows you’re a little full on. It’s not like I’m tellin’ ya anything you don’t know.” 

“Yeah, but maybe it’s something you can refrain from saying in front of company,” she replies out the side of her mouth, tipping her head back towards Aaron in a way she can’t possibly think is stealthlike. 

Can she? 

“How about you two stop bickering and let your _company_ into the house, eh?” Robert butts in, saving the day as far as Aaron’s concerned as he adds, “Here, I brought this,” and shoves a bottle of red wine he’d picked up in Hotten into Adam’s hand. 

Adam makes a disgusted little sound before handing the bottle to Vic like it’s about to explode. “This one’s all yours, babe. Aaron, you look like a fellow beer-drinker. Can I get you a can?” 

“God, yes,” Aaron all but moans, finally finding relief in the idea of getting blind drunk. And something about his response makes everyone else laugh. 

“Cheeky,” Vic says with a wink before disappearing with Adam back into the kitchen, one to presumably finish making tea and the other to get Aaron some much needed alcohol. And then, for just a few moments, he and Robert are alone. 

“You okay?” Robert asks, settling himself in front of Aaron with his hands firmly placed on Aaron’s hips. 

He thinks for a second before he realizes he’s not actually lying when he says, “Yeah. I’m good,” because he is. 

He feels good here, surprisingly. 

Robert gives him the sunshine smile before leaning in to kiss him, a gesture interrupted by Adam when he comes out with a couple of cans and groans, “Ugh, get a room you two. You’re like bloody newlyweds.” 

It surprises Aaron how much that thought doesn’t freak him out, but any joy he feels comes crashing back down around his feet when he remembers the ticking clock hanging over his head. 

Two days after today. Just two days left. 

He settles into the meal pretty easily, half because of the ever-flowing alcohol and half because Adam is a good bloke. He’s even a fan of _Top Gear,_ a show Robert always seems to fall asleep to. All of which means that by the time everyone has finished their food, Robert and his sister are sipping wine at one end of the table talking about place settings or whatever while Aaron and Adam are huddled at the other end talking about Leeds’ chances of winning the Premier League. 

“Hey, I got Fifa on the Xbox, if you’re interested,” Adam says at one point, his words slurring ever so slightly from the four cans he’s had already. 

“Yeah, sounds great,” Aaron replies with a level of enthusiasm he wasn’t expecting tonight. And with a quick look back Robert’s way, Aaron is following Adam towards the sofa. 

Robert smiles at him proudly, and Aaron just rolls his eyes in return. Because it’s not like he’s completely inept at making mates, he’s just… never really met the right bloke is all. 

They leave a couple of hours later, leftovers in tow and Adam’s mobile number written on a piece of paper for when Aaron finally gets around to getting a new phone. 

He won’t use it. He’s still not entirely sure how much Vic and, by extension, Adam knows about him, but once he goes back to that life, there won’t be any place for the likes of Adam Barton in it. 

They’re holding hands again, he and Robert, their arms swinging forward and back, led on by Robert who is considerably drunker than Aaron right now. And he’s so caught up in just the motion of their arms, the easy sway, the chilly night, that he doesn’t initially realize they’re going in the _opposite_ direction of Paddy’s place. 

“Oi, drunky, I think we’re supposed to be headed that way,” Aaron says as he attempts to stop Robert from moving so he can turn him around. 

“Wanna show you somethin’,” Robert says, his consonants softened by the wine as he tugs Aaron forward. 

Aaron just goes with it. Because this is all about Robert, right? And if Robert wants to go for a drunken midnight stroll, who is Aaron to stop him? 

They end up at an old cricket pavilion, one that’s familiar to Aaron from when he used to come here, back in the day. He thinks he might have even carved his name into the banister once, but before he has a chance to investigate, Robert is pulling him inside. 

The kiss shouldn’t be unexpected, given how horny Robert tends to get when he’s drunk. But it still knocks Aaron for six when Robert turns on him, plasters him to the wall, and locks their lips together so firmly it steals the breath right from Aaron’s lungs. 

He doesn’t know what this is, why they’re here, what this place means to Robert. But it must be something, because they’ve got a bed back at Paddy’s, one they’ve christened a few times. So sex in some grotty cabin with mouldy wooden floors is neither necessary nor particularly appealing. 

What is appealing, though, is the thing Robert is doing with his tongue, swirling it around Aaron’s before licking the underside, then starting all over again. The pull of everything _Robert_ so damn magnetizing that he’s instantly hard in his jeans, just from a kiss. 

“I want you,” Robert groans, indicating that he’s just as far along as Aaron is in the process. “Right here. Right now.” 

Aaron grabs his ears, forces Robert to look at him when he says, “Then fuck me already.” 

It’s the Cheshire Cat grin all over again. 

Along with the initial kiss, it shouldn’t be surprising that Robert brought lube and a condom along to his _sister’s home_ in preparation of having sex with Aaron in a rotting cricket pavilion. But once again, it is. Aaron had all but resigned himself to quick blowjobs and aching knees when Robert whipped the supplies out like a magician. 

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Aaron asks around a laugh as Robert kisses his way down Aaron’s bare chest. 

Robert looks up at that, something bare and borderline overwhelming in his eyes when he says, “I’ve had sex with so many people in here, Aaron, but I’ve never been with someone I loved. Kinda wanted to do that before I left for good.” 

There’s a hint of sadness at the end of his little speech, and Aaron knows exactly what it’s from. Because even though Emmerdale hasn’t been Robert’s home in over a decade himself, there’s obviously a part of him that still wants to belong here. 

Meeting Aaron has stolen that chance away. 

Robert makes sure that Aaron is lying on all of their clothes like a blanket before he sinks into him, and it stuns Aaron just like it always does how much care Robert takes with him. How much he wants to protect him. 

How much he’s willing to give up for him. 

It’s not fair. None of this is _fair._ But it is Aaron’s life, and Robert can have no place in it if he wants to keep him alive. 

Aaron would give up _anything_ to keep Robert alive. 

They wear each other’s clothes back to Paddy’s, minus Aaron’s t-shirt which was used as a makeshift towel. And for just a few minutes as they make their way through the empty streets of the village, Aaron lets himself imagine he’s someone else. Someone who could live in a place like this, with a man like Robert. 

Someone who could actually have, could actually _keep_ love. 

It’s a nice fantasy anyway, one that breaks as soon as they step foot into Paddy’s house and reality comes crashing around their feet. That clock still ticking over his head as he runs his hand through Clyde’s fur a few times before helping his drunken boyfriend up the stairs to their room. 

_Two more days,_ he thinks as he strips him and Robert down and climbs into bed. _Just two more days._

It’ll never be enough. 

~*~

Aaron is flying. Not like he’s got wings or anything. He’s on a plane. With Robert. Winging their way to some unknown destination in Spain, the dream isn’t specific enough to tell him where. 

Robert’s got these stupid sunglasses on even though it’s still nighttime. “It’ll be daylight when we land,” he says like he can read Aaron’s mind, “and the beaches wait for no man.” And Aaron falls in love with him that little bit more. 

They hit turbulence a minute later, the plane dropping then catching itself, making Aaron’s stomach roll. And at that first bump in the road, Aaron can’t help but flinch. 

Robert grabs his hand immediately. He doesn’t look at Aaron, doesn’t shame him in any way for being scared. He just runs his thumb along the backs of Aaron’s fingers and holds on tight. 

It means more than Aaron can possibly express. 

Things only get worse from there on out, though. It’s like the plane is trying to shake itself apart, one loud boom after another as Aaron holds onto Robert’s hand like it’s the only way he’s gonna possibly survive this.

_Boom, boom,_ **_boom,_ **until Aaron becomes positive that these are the last moments of his life. 

He looks to Robert, takes in the completely calm look on his face and wonders how he can possibly be so serene right now. They’re about to die. This plane is about to crack in half, sending its occupants scattered across the ground in bloody pieces, and Robert looks like it’s just a day at the beach for him. 

“It’s because it is,” Robert says, reading his mind once again. “Every day with you is.” 

And that’s the last thing Aaron hears before the noise gets too loud to bear. 

_Boom, boom,_ **_boom…_ **

The knocking on the door downstairs wakes him up, sends him rocketing up in bed like a Jack in the Box, his skin covered in sweat, making his t-shirt and boxers stick uncomfortably to his body. 

Robert is still completely passed out, but then again, Robert was drunker last night than Aaron’s ever seen him. It’s no surprise that he’s still dead to the world. What _is_ a surprise is the fact that someone is still knocking on the bloody front door like… he checks the clock… like half past eight is a respectable time to be doing something like that. 

He thinks of leaving it, of just letting whoever it is knock themselves daft until they give up. But then Robert grumbles something unintelligible in his sleep and Aaron can’t bring himself to allow Robert to be woken up right now. 

He looks so peaceful, like he had in the dream, like nothing can touch him. And Aaron would like to keep up that facade as long as possible so he gets out of bed and pads down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes along the way. 

Clyde is sitting in front of the door, the one that’s still banging, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out like he’s somehow excited about the proceedings. And even though Aaron thinks he’s a bit daft for it, he still pets Clyde before reaching for the door handle. 

The second he opens the door, he wishes he hadn’t. 

“Oh Aaron!” Chas exclaims as she throws herself bodily at Aaron, practically choking him in the process. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, his arms limp at his sides, his whole body just waiting for her to let him go. 

Chas backs up, but before Aaron can be thankful for that, she’s resting her hands on his cheeks, her eyes beaded with tears - bloody terrific - as she says, “Paddy told me that you’d been _shot,_ and I just… I needed to see you with my own two eyes.” 

The way that she whispers the word _shot_ would make Aaron laugh if he didn’t just want her to go away. That’s all he’s aiming for here, though, so he says a simple, “I’m fine,” as he takes her wrists and tugs her hands off his face. 

“Aaron, you were shot. How can you be fine? What… what happened?” 

“Paddy didn’t tell you?” he asks with mild curiosity. Very, _very_ mild. 

“No, he just said that you’d been shot and that Robert had brought you to him to recuperate but… but…”

“I was mugged,” Aaron interrupts in the hopes of getting her to stop mithering. “And I’m fine now. So there’s really nothing to be worried about.” 

She nods her head almost violently, dislodging a few stubborn tears from her eyes. But she still keeps talking, her words coming so fast they’re practically tripping over one another as she says, “The city is such a dangerous place, love. These sorts of things happen every day. And if you go back there… if you go back there it could happen again. Or… or… or you could get involved with a gang! I’ve heard about them, running the city like it’s theirs to do. There’s just so much _danger_ and-”

“Mum!” Aaron snaps if only to get her to shut up. It’s the first time he’s called her that since he was a kid, though, and judging by the crumpled look on her face, she’s caught it too. 

“Aaron,” she sighs. 

But before she can get any further he tries another, “I’m fine,” because he is. Or, well, he _isn’t,_ not really. But there’s no way on this green earth that he’s gonna let her try and help with that. 

“No you’re not,” she counters, her voice more forceful now as she bats away a few more tears. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“No, you’re _not._ And I think… I think you should move home.” 

Aaron laughs. It’s nowhere near the right reaction to have right now, or nowhere near the one that’s gonna get rid of her anyway. But the idea that this place is - was _ever_ \- his home is just that: laughable. 

“What’s so funny?” Chas asks, affronted. Confusion painted across her face because for some reason, she can’t see what’s going on here. 

Aaron can see it, though, and so he says, “You, that’s what’s so funny. You thinking that this place could ever be my home.”

“Aaron-”

“No, look, I appreciate the effort n’all, you trying to be my mum or whatever, but it’s not gonna happen. This place was _never_ my home, and it never _will be_ my home either, okay?” 

“Why?” she asks a bit too desperately for Aaron’s comfort level. 

“Why!?” he barks out, startling Clyde where he’s been lying on the floor near them, watching the proceedings. “Because you’re not my mum, okay? Because the Dingles aren’t my family and because Emmerdale is the last place on earth where I’d want to live.” 

“Just give me a chance, Aaron,” she begs in spite of what Aaron just said. “Just give me a chance to make it up to you.” 

Anger shoots up his spine immediately, burning at the back of his neck as he hisses, “You left me with someone who _abused_ me,” like that is in any way something he wants Chas to know. 

Fuck. 

“What do you mean?” Chas asks shakily, her hands reaching out to grab Aaron’s shirt, make some sort of contact, only Aaron dodges it before she can get too close. 

“Nothing,” he says through the rage still boiling his blood. “Forget I said anything.” 

“No, you said… did you mean your dad? He a-abused you?” 

“Just drop it, okay?” he asks with increasing desperation as he takes a few steps further away from her. 

“No, I will not drop it. I’m your mother, and-”

“You’re not my mother though!” he shouts. “You never were. And you don’t get to know me like that, alright? You don’t get to just walk back into my life after all these years and be my… my mum. It doesn’t work like that. Not after everything I’ve been through.” 

Chas just stares at him, the tears flowing freely now, streaking mascara down her cheeks. But Aaron can’t bring himself to care about any of that because what he said was the full and honest truth. 

As far as Aaron’s concerned, he’s never had a mum. And so he’s certainly not looking to have one now. 

“I’ve got stuff to do today, so I need to go,” he says coldly as he walks towards the door so he can open it for her, show her out. 

But she grabs his arm before he gets there, her fingers shaking against his skin as she whispers the words, “Aaron, please. Just… just let me talk to you. Let me spend some time with you. That’s all I’m asking.” 

He looks into her eyes at that, sees how much they’re begging him, so he says, “I can’t do this right now. I need some time to get my head ‘round it all. Come back in a coupla days, yeah? We’ll talk then.”

“And you’ll still be here?” she asks with hope for the first time this morning. 

“I promise,” Aaron lies. But what’s one more lie in the grand scheme of things, right? For now, it’s getting her to leave, and that’s all that matters. 

He takes his shirt off before climbing back into bed, wanting as he does to get rid of the sticky feeling he’s still got ever since he woke up. And wanting even more to feel his skin along Robert’s bare back as he curls up behind him. 

“I do love you,” he whispers into the crook of Robert’s neck, wanting as he does to say one thing today that isn’t a lie. 

“That part will always be true.” 

And then he closes his eyes and prays for sleep. 

~*~

**_A few nights ago…_ **

For Aaron, it’s just as easy to break into the MacFarlane house as it is to break out of it. After all, he knows where all the sensors are, knows where the three guards patrol and when, and knows the perfect tree to use to get into the upstairs bathroom window before anyone sees him coming. 

It’s easy, but tonight it’s also the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. 

He knows Robert is outside somewhere. His exact words, according to Paddy, were, “I’m going to storm the Bastille,” which can only mean one thing. Robert is somewhere outside the house right now, planning to break in, if he hasn’t already attempted it. 

Please, god, let him not have attempted it yet. 

It’s why Aaron’s on a time crunch, though. Why he hasn’t thought of a single helpful thing to say as he makes his way to Cal’s study and hopes that he’s still at home. Because right now, his only goal is to save Robert from his own stupid self. And there’s only one way to do that. 

A sense of familiarity washes over him as he sneaks through the upstairs hall, his eyes drifting down to his and Meg’s bedroom, to the open doorway, to the light spilling out into the hall. And he wants to go to her, wants her to tell him this is the right thing to do, but that’s not what he’d get right now and he knows it. 

Sean and Liam are playing pool in the upstairs game room. Aaron can hear them through the crack in the door. And it makes him sick to know that they’ll be back in his life again soon enough. That Liam…

He clutches his stomach, feels a phantom pain radiating out from his bullet wound and wishes…

Aaron just _wishes._

He takes a deep breath once he’s outside Cal’s study, tries to settle the nerves spiking all throughout his system. But he knows they’ll never calm down, not given the nature of his little mission here. So he just reaches for the door handle and turns. 

It’s unlocked. 

Cal is home. 

“What do you want?” Cal asks coldly, his head tipped down as he goes over a stack of papers on his desk. When Aaron doesn’t answer, though, he looks up. 

His whole demeanor changes immediately. 

“Aaron, son!” he exclaims as he gets to his feet, circling around the desk so he can grab Aaron and pull him in. Aaron remains still, though, his arms limp at his sides because he doesn't feel like pretending that Cal loves him anymore. He’s done that for long enough. 

Either Cal doesn’t notice his lack of enthusiasm or he chooses to ignore it. Either way, he’s smiling when he backs off, holding Aaron at arm’s length when he asks with a laugh, “What are you wearing?” 

“The guy who saved my life got me these,” Aaron says blankly, his voice monotone as he stares back at Cal and waits for them to get down to business already. 

“Grayson?” Cal asks, and Aaron’s heart… well, it fucking plummets to his toes. 

“What?” he asks shakily, but his fear is just met by a larger smile on Cal’s face when he says, “Paddy, then? These seem like clothes Paddy would pick out.” 

“How did you,” Aaron starts to ask, but Cal just waves a hand at him, telling him it’s of no consequence. 

His voice more serious as he says, “I’m just glad you’re okay, kid. And I’m proud of you for taking out Emile, French scum.” 

Aaron gets the feeling Cal would be spitting on the ground right now if they were outside, but Aaron doesn’t feel any of that animosity. Not really. All he feels is cold when he thinks of Emile. Dead cold. 

It makes him think about Liam, though. About the fact that, for all Aaron knows, Cal’s got no clue that Liam was the one who set him up. And for some reason, Aaron doesn’t wanna tell him. 

So he takes control of the conversation instead, says, “I know you threatened Robert,” because he can’t stand being in here, with Cal. Not after everything. And so the quicker he can get this deal done, the better. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cal lies smoothly, just like he always does. 

Aaron just laughs, crosses his arms over his chest, and says, “I know you did it, and I know you’ll _do it._ That you’ll follow through on your threat. You can stop pretending now.” 

“He’s turning you against me, Aaron,” Cal states like it’s some sort of matter-of-fact thing. Like somehow just _loving_ someone is akin to brainwashing. 

Maybe it is with Cal anyway. 

“I’m not here to argue about this, Cal. I’m here to make a deal.” 

Cal leans back against his desk at that, crosses his own arms and looks out at Aaron with interest in his eyes. “A deal?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron says, and this is it. This is the moment. The one that’s making his knees shake and his throat want to lock up, but he has to do it. Has to force the words out of his mouth before he misses his chance. 

“I’ll come home. I’ll marry Meg. I’ll be your good little soldier. I’ll do whatever you want me to do for as long as you want me to do it, but only if you let me get him out of the country first, and only if you promise that you won’t touch him.” 

Cal studies his face for a long minute, his eyes squinted down like Aaron is some sort of language he can’t read. Which is why his voice sounds almost intrigued when he asks, “Do you love him?” 

“No,” he says quickly, maybe too quickly because Cal puffs out an incredulous laugh in response. 

“You never were a good liar, son. At least not to me.”

“What the hell does any of that matter? I’m offering you a good deal here, Cal. And you know it, or you wouldn’t still be sitting here right now.” 

His breaths are coming quick now, each one coated with fear at the thought that Cal’s about to turn him down. That he’ll find Robert and kill him instead, just because he can. 

Cal just stands up a second later, though, places one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and leans in before saying simply, “He’s in the alley across from the front drive.” 

Aaron narrows his eyes in confusion. “How long has he been out there?” 

Cal shrugs. “A few hours.” 

“And you were just gonna what? Wait until I came and got him?” 

“That was one option,” Cal says with a crooked smile before shrugging again. “But I knew you’d come for him eventually. Take your boyfriend, get him out of the country, and I’ll see you back here in a few days, yeah?” 

He slaps Aaron’s cheek lightly at that before grabbing the side of Aaron’s neck and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Whispering the words, “Welcome home, Aaron,” into his ear. 

Aaron is shaky as he makes his way to the door, his stomach twisted up in knots and his limbs heavy like lead as he reaches for the doorknob. But before he can make his escape, Cal calls out one final threat over his shoulder. 

“If you try to run, I will find you.” 

Aaron doesn’t look back at him. Aaron _can’t_ look back at him. So he just nods and says the words, “I know,” because he does. 

_He knows._


	26. Leavin’ Trunk

When Robert wakes up the next morning, Aaron is squeezing him so tight his ribs actually hurt. 

For a moment, he sinks back into it anyway, lets the warmth of the duvet and Aaron’s mostly naked body soothe his aching muscles and throbbing head. But then he remembers that his boyfriend is still healing from a gunshot wound, and his own body locks straight as an arrow to keep from hurting him. 

“Stop,” Aaron’s voice comes from behind him just as he’s starting to squirm in the sheets. “I’m fine.” 

Aaron sounds wide awake. Like, _hours past wide awake._ And Robert should be worried about why a wide awake Aaron is squeezing him this hard, but he’s also still a little bit drunk, and so he just goes with it for the time being. 

“You don’t have to hold me so tight there, tiger,” Robert says playfully. “I’m not going anywhere. In fact,” he wiggles his arse so that it’s brushing up against Aaron’s cock, already hardening in his boxers. “I wouldn’t mind a little breakfast in bed.” 

He’s waiting for a reprimand, something like _explain to me why I even have sex with you._ But instead, all he gets is Aaron sounding a little sad as he asks, “Can I just hold you for a little bit?” 

Okay, now he’s worried.

He tries to roll around in Aaron’s arms, but his attempts just make Aaron hold him that much tighter, make him bury his face in the nape of Robert’s neck and sigh in a way that might sound like a sob if heard from a different distance. 

Robert doesn’t like the sound of that at all. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, making sure to use his serious tone now so that Aaron knows he’s not backing down without an answer. 

But Aaron just shakes his head and mumbles the word, “Nothing,” into Robert’s skin. 

“Aaron, please don’t lie to me. I don’t even need to see your face and I can already tell that something’s up.”

“I’m just,” he starts before sighing again and saying so quietly Robert almost can’t hear it despite being literally millimetres away, “I’m scared.” 

_You don’t get scared,_ Robert wants to say, because he doesn’t. Not when he’s awake, at least. In all the time he’s known Aaron, he’s seen him run the gamut of human emotions. But somehow, fear of anything but the monsters in his head has never really been one of them. 

He wants to roll over so badly, wants to take Aaron’s face in his hands, kiss each cheek, tell him he’s not alone while looking into a blue so deep he’s certain he’s nearly drowned in it a hundred times or more. But Aaron is still holding him in a vice grip, and so Robert has to speak to the wall instead. 

His voice steady, the kind of rock solid foundation Aaron needs right now, when he asks, “What are you afraid of?” 

He can feel Aaron shrug against him. Translation: _I’m not going to tell you what’s wrong so much as I’m going to make you guess it._ And Robert is used to this, pulling truths out of Aaron one thread at a time, knowing all the while that if he so much as tugs on the wrong one, the whole thing could unravel. 

So he starts at the most logical point, saying, “Is it your family?” Because they’re leaving the country in two days. They’re leaving their entire _world_ in just forty-eight short hours _._ But Robert knows that Aaron is a little more entrenched than he is. 

That’s what cults do, right? They make you think you’re daft for wanting to leave. 

Aaron’s reaction to Robert’s question is to squeeze Robert tighter, moving his arms down to Robert’s waist so as not to break any bones. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? 

Aaron’s really only ever had one family. As messed up as the MacFarlanes are, they’re Aaron’s comfort zone. And now, Aaron’s leaving that behind, _for Robert._ It’s bound to make him want to literally hold on tight to the only person he’s got left.

It’s a heavy responsibility, being that person. But Robert will take that over the alternative any day. Over Aaron stepping foot within ten metres of those people ever again. 

“We’re doing the right thing,” Robert says as he skates his palm up and down Aaron’s arm. “You are doing the right thing. And I know that it scares you, leaving them behind.” 

_Leaving_ **_Cal_ ** _behind,_ Robert thinks. 

“But it’s all going to work out in the end. You’ll see. Barcelona will be amazing. Our life there will be _amazing._ I promise you that, yeah?”

It takes a full minute for Aaron to nod against Robert’s shoulder blades, and that’s just not enough of a response for him. So he says, “Please let me turn around. I don’t want to have this conversation when I can’t look at you.” 

It takes another minute for Aaron to loosen his arms, allow Robert to turn in the circle of them. But when he does, there’s something so bare in Aaron’s expression that it startles him. 

“Aaron, please,” he all but begs as he runs his fingers through Aaron’s sleep mussed hair. “Please just tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, let me help you fix it.”

“You can’t,” Aaron whispers, his voice little more than a rasp in the quiet bubble surrounding them. “No one can.” And with that, he’s moving to get off the bed. 

Robert grabs his arm, though, doesn’t allow him to leave when it feels like so much is at stake. But all Aaron can do in response is lie to him again. Smile something so fake it looks painful as he says, “I’m fine, really,” even though he’s clearly not. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he adds, leaning in to kiss Robert once softly on the lips. “Join me if you like.” 

When he winks at Robert, the facade is complete. Aaron has lied to him this morning, fed him half of a truth, and tried to bribe him into docility with sex. Robert doesn’t have to be a genius to know he’s not going to get anything out of Aaron right now. 

“I’m still a bit too dizzy to get up,” Robert says reluctantly. His resistance almost failing when Aaron pouts at him. Or the Aaron version of a pout, anyway. 

He doesn’t want to reward this behaviour, though. Doesn’t want Aaron to think that he can just fuck his way out of every serious conversation they have. They’re going to be spending their lives together…

_They’re going to be spending their lives together._

Robert can’t exactly force Aaron to be open, but he doesn’t have to enable him to be closed off either. 

“Your loss,” Aaron replies with another shrug, the disappointment clear in his tone. But before Robert can take back his response, before he can get on his knees really and beg Aaron not to be upset, Aaron has disappeared into the hallway. 

The sound of the door slamming is enough to shake Robert all the way to his bones. 

~*~

Despite their… disagreement, Aaron is still clingy all morning, which is not a word Robert would ever use to describe him. But there he is, moving his chair around the breakfast table so he can comfortably wrap his legs around Robert’s. And there he is, practically sitting in Robert’s lap on the sofa as they watch some morning telly. 

There he is, sitting on the edge of the bed when Robert gets out of the shower, a look of contriteness etched into his face as one knee bounces and his hands wring together in a way that immediately sets Robert on edge. 

“It’s just that everything’s gonna change soon, is all,” he says to his lap, unwilling or unable as he is to look at Robert right now. “And I’ve never exactly been good with change.” 

“Aaron, I,” Robert starts to say, feeling ridiculous having this conversation in nothing but a towel with ducks on it wrapped around his waist. 

Aaron just looks up at him, though, freezes him with a single glance before saying, “I want to be with you. You need to know that, Robert. More than anything I just want to be with _you._ No one else.” 

Robert crosses over to the bed and sits down beside Aaron, placing a hand gently on his restless leg. “I know that, Aaron. It’s why we’re running away together.” 

Aaron nods, allowing one rogue tear to slip from his eye, catching it before it can even reach his chin. “I know, I know. I just… I want you to know that I love you, okay? That whatever happens, I _love_ you.” 

“What do you mean ‘whatever happens’?” Robert asks shakily, Aaron’s words sending a spike of fear through his chest. 

“Nothing,” Aaron bites back quickly, his hands leaving his lap so they can cup Robert’s cheeks, pull him in for a kiss so slow and tender it makes Robert feel like he’s floating. 

“I just meant if something happens with the passports or… or anything else. I just want to make sure that you know that nothing’s gonna change for me. That I love you, no matter what.” 

“And I love you no matter what,” Robert replies, still a bit shaken up. But there’s this serene look on Aaron’s face right now, something more peaceful than he’s used to seeing. And so he smiles in return, takes Aaron’s hands and kisses each palm before reaching out to pull Aaron into another kiss. 

They don’t leave the bed again for another two hours at least. 

~*~

Aaron and Adam are playing video games again, something with guns and blood and a lot of screaming and laddish high-fiving. 

Thick as thieves, those two are. And it only took them twenty-four hours to get there. 

Robert isn’t going to say he’s jealous, given that he’s the one that got to spend the early afternoon in bed with Aaron, sweaty and sated. But he can already tell that there’s something Adam is giving Aaron that Robert never could. A brotherly _something_ that Aaron never got from the one who tried to kill him, the one who beat him up for fun, and the one whose name Robert can’t even remember. 

“They look like they’re having fun,” Vic says as she approaches him with two steaming cups of tea, reading his mind just like usual. 

“They do,” he replies. “Aaron’s got a few brothers… well, adopted brothers I guess you’d call them-”

“Adopted brothers are still brothers,” Vic chastises him lightly, reminding him of course of Andy, the last person on earth he wants to think of right now. 

He’ll never be able to say how thankful he is that Andy and Katie just so happened to be out of town at some horse auction over the few days Robert and Aaron decided to make their presence in the village known. It means he won’t get a chance to say goodbye to Andy before leaving the country for good, and you can imagine how deep and painful his sadness is over that fact. 

Not. 

“He has brothers, though, was my point,” Robert replies with as much mirth in his voice as he can muster. “But never anything like this. I think he’s just getting a kick out of being a kid for once.” 

“Oi,” Vic says with a light slap to Robert’s arm. “Are you saying my husband is a kid?” 

Robert rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious because it is. “He works for his mum and he spends all his free time getting drunk at the local pub, driving around on his quad bike, or playing video games. He’s perpetually eighteen, Vic. Even you have to see that.” 

She glances over at Adam, takes in the way he gets to his feet so he can spike his game controller onto the couch, and smiles. Which is really all the answer Robert needs. 

“So how long are you planning to stay in Emmerdale?” she asks once she comes back to herself. “Not that I want you to leave, mind. It’s been so wonderful having you close by.”

“Just two more days. We’ve got some stuff to take care of in Manchester tomorrow, and then we’re off to Barcelona on a little holiday.” 

“Oh, holiday. How come?” 

Robert squirms a little, because even though Vic knows what Aaron does for a living, knows that he was _shot,_ neither one of them has mentioned any of that since that night.

“Oh right!” she exclaims, motioning crudely at her stomach. “I’d imagine… _that_ requires some time to recuperate. And your job is okay with this? You missing all this time?” 

_What job,_ Robert thinks miserably. The one that binned him last week when he made it blatantly clear that he wasn’t coming back any time soon? 

“I’m taking some time off. Evaluating my options,” he says non-committedly.

But either his response is not vague enough or too vague for Vic, because no sooner does he say it then her eyes turn on him, thin slits of sisterly suspicion. 

“That sounds an awful lot like you’ve been fired, Robert,” she needles. 

“I haven’t been fired. I… well, I may have quit.” 

“Robert!” she exclaims, even louder than last time, as she smacks his arm once again. 

It draws Aaron’s attention this time, his brows pinching in concern. And so Robert tries as hard as he can to beam at him, let him know that there’s nothing to worry about even though there sort of is. 

“I have plenty of money in savings to keep us afloat until we… see where we land,” he says, more question than comment. And Robert really might as well get a shovel to aid in the gravedigging he’s doing right now. 

_Shut up, Robert,_ he warns. _Shut up shut up shut up._

But the concerned way Vic turns him towards her, her eyes all big and wet and just like mum’s, makes him think he might have some trouble in that department. 

“Where you land?” she asks, her voice so very young right now that he can’t help but be reminded of the day he left her. The day their father kicked him out of the village and told him never to come back. 

“Leeds isn’t a safe place for him right now, Vic. You know that. We just… we just need to figure out where is.” 

“Are you sure about him?” she whispers, her voice concerned now, borderline frightened. 

He leans in and places his hand on her shoulder, makes sure his voice is deadly serious as he says, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” because he hasn’t. 

Aaron is it for him. He’d walk straight into the desert without so much as a glass of water for him. 

“He loves you,” she spits out like even she’s surprised the words came out of her mouth. 

“It’s plain to see,” she adds with a shrug when Robert looks at her, gobsmacked. “Just how it’s plain to see you’re gone on him. And maybe… maybe that’s enough.”

“Thank you, Vic,” Robert replies, straight from his heart. But instead of being all loving like he’s expecting, her eyes turn cold and sharp. 

“Don’t thank me. If anything happens to you… Rob, if _anything_ happens to you because of him, I’ll… I’ll…”

“It’s okay,” Robert interrupts her, half because she looks like she needs it and half because he really doesn’t want to know what she has to say. His arms stretching out to wrap her in them, pull her tight to his body. “We’ll be okay, I promise.” 

“You promise?” she asks wetly into his shoulder as she clings to him just how Aaron had been clinging to him this morning. 

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” 

She laughs at that. It’s weak, but it’s _there._ And Robert is about to go ahead and feel relieved about all of that when he looks over her shoulder and catches Aaron looking back at him. 

The look on his face is mostly unreadable. It looks a little like sadness, a little like regret, and a little like something else Robert hasn’t seen before. But it gives him the chills all the same as Aaron stares at him for a good few seconds before turning back to the video game. 

_That was weird,_ Robert thinks as he lets his sister go, drying her tears as he does it. But a small part of his mind is reminding him that _weird_ isn’t the word to cover it. 

The one he’s looking for sounds more like _terrifying._

~*~

They’re walking back to Paddy’s a while later, full up on Victoria’s cooking and looking forward to a night in with hopefully minimal Paddy sized interruptions when someone stops them in the middle of the street. 

By someone, he means Chas. 

And by stop, he means _literally stands directly in front of them with her arms out to the sides like a goalkeeper refusing to let them pass._

He can’t _wait_ to see what this is about. 

“It hasn’t been a coupla days,” Aaron says bitterly, causing Robert to balk a little in confusion because _what?_

“It hasn’t even been _one_ day. And I don’t feel any more like talking than I did this morning.”

_Oh,_ Robert thinks. Well that explains the Aaron shaped blanket he’d woken up to. 

“I just want a couple minutes of your time, love. Can’t you give your old mum that?” 

“Do you want me to go?” Robert asks low in Aaron’s ear, but Aaron just shakes his head and tightens his hand where it’s been gripped in Robert’s since they left Victoria’s. 

“She’s the one that’s gonna go,” he adds so the rest of the class can hear. 

Robert is expecting Chas to back off. He’s got no idea _why_ he’s expecting that, given that he’s never seen Chas back off so much as a ham sandwich before. But maybe he’s just hoping that her supposed love for her son would include giving him some bloody space when he so clearly needs it. 

He shouldn’t have given her so much credit. 

“Not until you talk to me,” she says stubbornly, crossing her arms now even though the look on her face betrays her. 

She looks scared. _Desperate._ And Robert doesn’t quite understand why she’s looking that way until she says, “Paddy overheard you talking this morning, saying that you’re going to be leaving the day after tomorrow. And I just… I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night unless I at least asked for you to stay here.”

“As in live here?” Aaron asks incredulously. “Near you?” 

To her credit, Chas doesn't look nearly as crushed by that comment as she probably should. Instead, she just powers on, her voice laughably like that of an actual concerned parent as she says, “Leeds is a dangerous place, sweetheart. You got _shot_ there. You can’t go back where all those… all those dangerous people are. What if it happens again?” 

Aaron sneers at her, and so even though Robert has no clue what he’s about to say, he knows it can’t possibly be good for Chas and, frankly, Robert doesn’t really care. 

_Let her have it,_ Robert wants to say. It’s not like she doesn't deserve it. 

Aaron lets go of Robert’s hand so he can take a few steps towards his mother, his fists clenching at his sides as he says levelly, “I don’t have to worry about the bad people there because I _am_ the bad people there, got it?” 

“What do you,” Chas starts to say, but Aaron just interrupts her. 

“What do I mean? Ever heard of the MacFarlane family?” 

Her only reaction is the widening of her eyes. 

“They make the Dingles look like kids at a soft play area, and I’ve been living with the head of the family for _ten years._ I’m one of his most trusted confidantes. He was more like a parent to me than you _ever_ were. So really, _Chas,_ you don’t have to worry about me going back to Leeds because I’m a lot scarier than most everyone that lives there.” 

Aaron turns away at that, starts walking directly back to Paddy’s, but for some reason Robert is frozen where he stands, the same as Chas. Her eyes as wide as saucers as she stares at her son’s back in utter dismay and confusion. 

“He’s… he’s lying, right?” she stammers quietly, her eyes sliding slowly to Robert’s. 

“You left him alone with the worst possible monster anyone could imagine,” Robert replies, just as coldly as Aaron had. “And then when he got away from that man finally, he lived on the streets for over a year.”

Chas reacts like she’s been slapped, which _good,_ Robert thinks. She deserves it. 

“So no, he’s not lying. When Cal MacFarlane offered to take him in, make him a part of the… the family,” Robert continues, almost gagging over the idea of Aaron being a part of that messed up clan. “Aaron didn’t have any choice. And that’s _your_ fault, Chas.” 

“I didn’t… I never…”

“You never what? Meant for him to cling to a drug lord because he didn’t feel comfortable coming back to his own blood? Well you did. And you don’t-”

_You don’t even know the half of what that did to him,_ he thinks. But he doesn’t say it. Not because he cares about hurting Chas’ precious feelings, but because it’s not his story to tell. 

So he just says, as simply as possible, “Why don’t you leave him alone, yeah? You’ve had plenty of practice at that over the years. It should be easy by now.” 

And then he leaves, jogging to catch up with Aaron who’s just about back to Paddy’s by now. His hand still warm from when Robert had been holding it before as he takes it now and leads Aaron inside. 

Tonight, Aaron gets to pick the film. 

~*~

“So I wasn’t going to say anything,” Robert says truthfully (sort of) as they both undress for bed that night, “but I can’t just let this day pass without asking if you’re okay.” 

“Okay about what?” Aaron asks from inside his jumper. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe your confrontation with your mother in the middle of the street?” 

That’s not really what he wants to ask about. He wants to ask about Cal, about Meg. About leaving behind the only family he’s ever had. But Robert isn’t brave enough to ask those questions yet, so Chas will have to do. 

Aaron finally whips the jumper off his head, causing his hair to stand up in a dozen different directions. And really, it’s not fair that Aaron looks so cute when Robert is trying to have a serious conversation with him. All it makes him want to do is smile. And maybe tackle him to the bed.

Okay, _definitely_ tackle him to the bed. 

This isn’t about that, though. This is about making sure that Aaron’s potentially traumatic discussion with his mother today might very well need to be addressed before tomorrow and Manchester and running for their lives takes over everything else. 

“I’m fine, Robert,” Aaron says with exasperation as he undoes his jeans, stepping out of them before hopping around to remove his socks as Robert performs a similar ritual on the other side of the bed. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never had a mum. Chas is nothing to me.” 

Aaron smiles at that, a tight-lipped little thing that looks more like a grimace than anything legitimately jovial. So Robert grits his teeth, bites the bullet, and says, “But she _is_ your mum, Aaron. And you can’t just erase that. And before you say anything, just know that I like her about as much as the mud on the bottom of my shoes. But-”

“Robert,” Aaron interrupts, holding his hand up before crawling over the bed towards Robert in a way that’s a little more suggestive than Robert can handle right now. 

_Function, upstairs brain. Keep functioning._

“In a little over twenty-four hours,” Aaron starts in a conversational tone as he runs his hand over Robert’s bare stomach. “You and I are gonna be winging our way to Barcelona to start our new life together. No Sugdens, no Dingles, no MacFarlanes, just you, me, sunshine and tequila. What in the bloody hell makes you think I give a stuff what my mum has to say about _anything_ right now?” 

He presses his lips to the trail of hair just below Robert’s belly button, plants a wet, hard kiss to the skin. And all Robert can think is _he’s got a point._

What the hell does anyone else matter at this stage? 

“As long as you promise me you’re okay,” Robert tries one final time as Aaron’s tongue begins to dip beneath the waistband of Robert’s boxers. 

Aaron looks up at him from beneath his lashes, smiles something absolutely sinful, and says, “I promise,” before dragging Robert’s boxers down his thighs and taking him in his mouth in one fell swoop. 

The blowjob is phenomenal, all wet and hot with just the right amount of scraping teeth. But if Robert is being completely honest, it’s over much too quickly. 

Aaron really is far too talented for his own good sometimes. 

When Robert goes to return the favour, knees weak and skin pulsing, Aaron just pulls him down to the bed, his voice practically a purr when he asks, “What’s the rush?” 

He kisses Robert deeply, an all-consuming sort of thing. And there begins what feels like endless minutes of just that - kissing and touching and teasing like they have all the time in the world. 

They do, don’t they? Tonight isn’t an end, it’s a beginning, a start to a new life together. And so maybe it’s okay if they just spend a half hour or so snogging on the bed, naked as the day they were born. There’s plenty of time for everything else. 

Fact is, he hasn’t snogged like this since school, kissing just for the sake of kissing. His senses so overwhelmed that it doesn’t take very long for him to feel himself getting hard again. 

Aaron hums against the soft skin just below his jaw like this was his plan all along, and Robert can only smile because he gets to spend the rest of his life with this man. With those lips, those hands, that heart. And so it doesn’t matter that he’s losing everything else because really, what else did he have in the first place anyway? 

Robert’s already starting to forget all that came before and he hasn’t even left the country yet. It can’t have been that important if it’s already slipping his mind. 

“So good,” Aaron says mindlessly as he strokes Robert’s cock so softly it’s like his hand is barely even there. “You’re always so good for me.” 

And Robert can feel himself blush at Aaron’s words, at the praise that so rarely falls from Aaron’s lips. 

“Wanna be inside you, yeah?” Aaron adds, leaning up from Robert’s neck so he can stare into his eyes, the look on Aaron’s face so full of love and devotion that Robert would be knocked back by it if he weren’t already lying flat on the bed. 

Robert reaches up, grabs the sides of Aaron’s head and pulls him in for a kiss so powerful that it sears itself into Robert’s memory instantly. 

His own voice ragged, wrecked already when he pulls back and replies, “You can have anything you want, Aaron,” because he can. 

There is not a single part of Robert that doesn’t belong to the man on top of him. 

Aaron kisses him back before reaching for their dwindling supplies, his eyes hungry when he looks back at Robert again, biting Robert’s bottom lip before sucking on it to soothe the pain. 

And normally Robert likes to be an active part in the proceedings, making sure that Aaron is taken care of. But when Aaron says, “Just lie back, I’ve got this,” in a tone so warm and caring and full of _love,_ Robert has a hard time doing anything but. 

Aaron drives him crazy like he always does when he preps him, working his fingers like magic, seeking out his prostate and pressing before pulling back again, teasing him to the point of insanity. 

And through it all, Robert just lies there and lets Aaron do his work, reveling in the trust the pair of them have for one another. The _connection_ they have, made all the more real when Aaron finally slicks himself up and slides effortlessly into Robert. 

The pressure starts building instantly, along with the tempo, like Aaron cannot control himself any longer. And Robert is powerless to stop it, his entire body lighting up like his skin is on fire as he meets Aaron, thrust for thrust, in an attempt to get him deeper inside of him. 

He’d wrap Aaron in his own skin if that were even remotely possible. 

As it stands, his body feels like it’s filling up with all things Aaron anyway, his scent, his taste, the feel of his muscles, pressing into his own. And it strikes him out of the clear blue how he’s never felt this connected to anyone before, not even past versions of Aaron, as they move as one person, melted into each other’s skin. One body, one soul, one existence wrapped up together as Robert comes all over his belly while Aaron fills the condom inside of him. 

He can’t catch his breath once they’re finished. Each one more of a gasp than the last as Aaron collapses on top of him, equally spent. And something feels different here, the very sweat on his skin _different_ as he lifts up his leaden arms so he can wrap them around Aaron’s body, holding him tight. 

“I love you,” he says breathlessly into Aaron’s sweat-damp hair. “I love you so much, Aaron.”

Aaron looks up at him then, his eyes shining, sadder than Robert would expect after what just happened but his voice firm when he replies, “I love you, too, okay? I love you, too.” 

Before Robert can say anything, Aaron kisses him. And before he can say anything after that, Aaron is off the bed in search of a damp towel. And by then, the point is lost in the feel of Aaron’s body curled up against his side, just where it’s supposed to be. 

Robert yawns, the deep, dizzy kind that means he’ll be asleep in minutes, if he even lasts that long. But before he can drift off, Aaron asks quietly, “Can we stay up a little longer?” 

Robert laughs and cards his fingers through Aaron’s hair. “We will be here tomorrow, you know.” 

“I know. I just… tomorrow is a big day. Everything is gonna change, and I just… I just want to enjoy the peace we’ve got left here for as long as we can.”

He kisses the crown of Aaron’s head and holds him a little tighter. “We’re going to have plenty of peace in Barcelona.”

“I know, just… can we please?”

“Of course,” Robert says. But instead of just leaving it at that like he usually might, he takes Aaron’s face in his hands and tips it up, his fingers caressing Aaron’s cheekbones as he asks, “Are you okay? You’ve seemed a little off all day. Not that I’m complaining about the clinginess, mind. I’d super glue you to my body if I thought I’d get away with it. But you-”

“I’m fine,” Aaron says before kissing Robert, his classic way of trying to move off a topic he doesn’t want to be on. And Robert would push the point if he didn’t know that he has a lifetime to figure it out. 

So when Aaron adds, “Just tell me a story, yeah?” Robert just kisses his forehead and asks, “I ever tell you about the time I stole my dad’s truck and almost drove it into a quarry?” 

Aaron shakes his head and smiles, and just like always, it makes Robert feel like he’s won something no one else in the world could ever have. 

~*~

“Are you sure you’re okay with coming along?” Aaron asks the next morning as they’re getting into Paddy’s SUV. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Robert asks. 

“Because it’s more time you could be spending with Vic. This is your last day, and-”

“Aaron,” Robert says gently as he reaches over and places a hand on Aaron’s forearm. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight any more than you want to let me out of yours. We might as well just lean into the feeling, yeah?” 

Aaron looks at him for a few seconds, studying his expression before biting the corner of his lip and nodding. 

“Okay,” he says with a forced smile that Robert could spot the fakeness of a mile out. “Lean into it.” 

And that’s exactly what they do. 

The ride to Manchester is a tense one. They’ve been spending so much time in Emmerdale lately, holed up in Paddy’s box room, that Robert has felt almost safe. But out here, in the great wide world, he keeps waiting for Cal to pop out of every corner. 

He would have run headfirst into Cal’s house if Aaron hadn’t have stopped him, but that doesn’t mean the man doesn’t absolutely terrify him. 

They make it there in about an hour and a half, with almost no words shared between them as the radio plays quietly on the dash. Which normally would be a good time to think, weigh up what he’s doing, ponder whether he’s doing the right thing or not. But the moment Aaron had said the words, “We run,” Robert’s whole entire heart had been in the venture. 

The plain fact is, he’d follow Aaron anywhere, up to and including the gates of hell itself. Maybe it’s a personal flaw, maybe not. But either way, it’s the truth. 

It feels weird being back at Matt’s place, given the circumstances of his last visit. But it’s like having Aaron with him has somehow given him the keys to the kingdom as Matt actually _smiles_ from the other side of the door and invites them in. 

“You’re actually letting me in this time?” Robert asks as Matt pulls Robert’s boyfriend into a hug far tighter and longer than he’d really prefer. 

“Piss off, Sugden,” he says when he finally lets Aaron go, ending the hug with this strange little headbutt that does nothing to decrease Robert’s discomfort. 

He knows they slept together, and he also knows that Aaron never considered Matt a boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean he has to like seeing Matt practically pawing Aaron in the middle of the flat. 

“Or should I say Prentiss?” Matt asks as he grabs a passport from the dining table and tosses it at Robert’s chest. 

He just manages to catch it before it hits the floor, his attention locked as it is on the way Matt hands Aaron his passport softly, all _lingeringly._ And Robert is now one hundred percent positive that it was the right decision to come along today because if he hadn’t, who knows what Matt would’ve tried with _his boyfriend._

That was a bit possessive, wasn’t it? 

Yeah, that was probably a bit possessive. 

Robert opens the passport if only to give him something to do and sees a picture of Aaron staring back at him, next to the name “Daniel Prentiss.” 

Aaron notices Matt’s mistake at the same time Robert does, which is why he crosses the room to where Robert’s still standing by the door and switches the passports out. 

He opens his own this time, seeing himself almost smiling back at him next to the name “Rory Prentiss” and something short circuits in Robert’s brain at that. 

“I’m sorry, Aaron, but I don’t think anyone is going to buy that we’re brothers,” he says, even though his own ill begotten brother looks similar to Aaron, much to Robert’s eternal chagrin. 

Aaron kicks at the floor shyly, his eyes bouncing everywhere around the room as he says, “We’re not supposed to be brothers.” 

Robert, because he is a moron, can only think, “Cousins?” 

“You’re married, you prat,” Matt interjects, saving both Robert and Aaron from their own miscommunications. “Aaron and I figured it would be easier to get you past customs if you were a newly married couple out on your honeymoon. So… congratulations, I guess.” 

For a few moments, Matt disappears entirely from Robert’s perception as all of Robert’s focus zeroes in on Aaron, standing across the room from him, still unwilling to look him in the eye. And all Robert wants to do right now is kiss him, pull him into his arms and kiss him bloody senseless. 

But Matt _is_ in the room, and so Robert just coughs out the words, “Right. Makes sense,” and leaves it at that. 

Matt insists they stay for a cup of tea, which turns into a catch up session between Matt and Aaron. And even though Robert is itching to go, to pull Aaron away from this person and never come back, he’s not a complete twat. 

He knows this is probably the last time Aaron will see Matt, and he knows that Matt - despite Robert’s feelings towards him - is someone that Aaron cared about, in his own way. So all he can really do is sit there and let it happen, whatever _it_ is. 

They leave about an hour and a half later, which is actual perfect timing for what Robert’s got planned next.

“I’ll drive,” he says possibly too giddily. Which is why Aaron gives him a bit of the side-eye when he asks, “Why?” 

“Because you drove here and I want to give you a break,” Robert replies, smoother this time as he makes grabby hands for the keys. And Aaron must be really worn out because he hands them over without another word spoken. 

“The motorway is back that way,” Aaron says blandly as Robert navigates the streets of Manchester.

“I know. I just thought we could do with a spot of lunch, is all.” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow at him and grumbles something under his breath, but in the end he goes along with it. 

Robert’s going to take that as a win. 

When they pull up outside of the pub they’d gone to after the concert a while back, Aaron stills in his seat. 

“You said it was the best burger you’d ever eaten,” Robert says almost shyly, wondering as he is if he’s made some sort of mistake here. “We can go some place else, I don’t mind, I just thought-”

“No,” Aaron says softly as he turns to face Robert, a hand reaching out to grab Robert’s bicep. “It’s perfect.” 

_Perfect._

Robert’s not sure if he’s ever heard Aaron use that word before. 

The pub is a little more crowded this time around, full of the lunch rushers, so they take the last two empty seats at the bar. Each of them ordering a pint while Aaron orders his burger again and Robert opts to try something different. 

There’s something in that, a metaphor for who they are as people, but Robert is too amped up to care about any of that. 

This time tomorrow, they’ll be in Barcelona. This time tomorrow, they’ll be starting their new life together. 

This time tomorrow, Aaron will be free. 

_I’m going to take you on so many dates once we’re settled,_ Robert thinks as they walk back to Paddy’s car about an hour later. 

This place was the site of their first and only date so far on the record, but Robert is making the promise to himself right now that he won’t let so much time stretch between this one and the next. 

Aaron deserves more. Aaron deserves _everything._ And Robert is ready and willing to give it to him. 

~*~

They’re at Vic’s again later that night, enjoying tacos and margaritas, when Aaron pats Adam on the shoulder and heads over to where Robert is temporarily sitting alone at the table. 

“I think I’m gonna head back,” Aaron says, leaning down to press a kiss to Robert’s cheek. 

He sounds tired, Robert thinks. Tired and something else, that strange mystery emotion he’s been wearing like a black hoodie for the past few days. And there’s a surge of something almost like desperation thrumming through Robert’s system as he grabs Aaron’s hand and holds it tight. 

“I’ll come with you,” he says, trying to tamp down the ridiculous presence of fear in the center of his gut. 

What does he have to be afraid of right now? They’re almost free, aren’t they? Less than twelve hours and they’ll be winging their way out of here. 

“You have to try these watermelon ones, Robert!” Vic calls from the kitchen. “They’re my favourite!”

Aaron smiles, leans down to kiss Robert’s cheek again and says, “No, you stay. This is your,” he leans in a bit more, lowers his voice when he adds, “your last night with your sister. I’ll meet you back at Paddy’s in a bit.” 

“Are you sure?” Robert asks, his brow furrowed as he imagines a world where Aaron would let him pull him into his lap right now, hug him like Aaron’s his very own koala bear. 

Aaron’s smile just deepens. “Yeah, I’m sure. You’re leaving, Robert. I want you to be able to say a proper goodbye, even if she doesn't know that’s what it is.” 

Robert nods, leans up and steals a kiss from Aaron’s lips as Adam groans about them getting a room in the background. And with that, Robert is watching Aaron slip into the kitchen to say goodbye to Vic before heading out the door. 

The rest of the night is a drunken blur. Tequila is not really Robert’s favourite alcohol, but he won’t lie and say Vic doesn’t make a tasty margarita. Which means that by the time Robert is on his way back to Paddy’s - back to _Aaron_ \- he’s nearly annihilated and all but incapable of walking in a straight line. 

“Why don’you have’a phone?” he slurs as he looks down at his own mobile, wondering as he is why he can’t just text Aaron right now, ask him to come walk with him. Keep him from toppling over. 

“Because you’re gorgeous, you are,” he says with a hiccup and a slight giggle. “That’s why you don’have’a phone. You’re too _gorgeous_ for phones, ‘cause gorgeous people don’have phones these days. They just… like… they just have people send smoke signals for’em.”

He hiccups again. Giggles again. 

“I’d send smoke signals for you, Aaron. Did you know that? I’d do anything… _anything_ for you, as long as you asked me to. ‘Cause I love you. I love you I love you I love you I lov-” 

Robert drops his phone, but before he can pick it up, there’s a searing pain in the back of his head. And then-


	27. Hold Me In Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter count went up. No, there's not really any more chapters in this story. I just decided to cut the one I was working on in half. So don't think that cookies or anything can get me to add more chapters. :D

Aaron wakes up gradually, like the slow rise of resurfacing, the shadows of the dream still dancing around the edge of his mind.

Robert was in it, warm and soft and safe. And there was sunshine draped over his skin, illuminating his freckles in a way Aaron’s never seen before. _Like Spain,_ he thinks now, drowsily. Like the Spanish sun wrapping him in its glow. 

Whatever else there was in the dream, Aaron can’t grasp it as he finally breaches the surface of consciousness. The word “Rob,” slipping off his tongue as he rolls over and attempts to pull the warm body beside him closer. All he’s met with, though, is cold sheets and a confused, sleep-addled brain that takes far too long to kick into gear. 

_What time is it?_

That’s the first question that comes into his mind. 

_3:22,_ the investigation of the bedside clock concludes, kicking his heart rate up a bit and forcing the fog in his brain to dissipate because the sheets wouldn’t be cold if Robert just popped to the loo. Which means...

_Where is Robert?_

He throws on the first bits of clothing he can find, a pair of trackies that’s far too long on his legs and the blue hoodie Robert’s always banging on about. Then come his boots, not even bothering with socks because hopefully this is gonna be a quick, painless trip down the road and nothing else. 

Hopefully. 

Even though it’s properly Spring now, there’s still a chill in the air that hits Aaron like a brick wall as soon as he steps outside, catching his already ragged breath in his chest. But none of that matters either. All that matters is getting to Keepers, is _finding Robert._

His stomach sinks when he finally gets close enough to see Vic’s cottage. To see that _all the lights are out._ But he still doesn’t give up hope because he can’t, not yet. 

Maybe Robert just passed out on their sofa, right? 

He hesitates for all of two seconds before he starts knocking, caring very little about the people inside, peacefully sleeping away. And he’s about to break in, social correctness be damned, when the door swings open under his fist. 

“Ay, mate, everything alright?” Adam asks on a yawn, his fist rubbing the sleep out of one eye while his other eye fights to focus on the panicked man in front of him. 

“No, yeah, just,” he mutters, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tries to get a look at the living space just over Adam’s shoulder. “I was wondering if Robert was still here.” 

“Naw, man, he left ages ago,” Adam replies calmly, a complete contrast to the way Aaron internally begins to absolutely lose his shit. 

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck_ **_fuck._ **

“Look, mate, you mind if I borrow your phone?” he asks, willing his voice to remain steady because it’s not gonna help anyone if Adam twigs to what’s going on. 

_There’s nothing going on,_ the delusional part of his brain tries to argue. _There’s a rational explanation for all of this._

Only there’s not. The giant black hole opening up inside his stomach is proof of that. 

“Sure, mate, just let me run upstairs and grab it.” 

Once he’s left alone, Aaron’s body starts to respond more to the panic coursing under his skin, causing him to pace back and forth on the doorstep while his fingers drag through then tug at his hair. 

This can’t be happening. There is absolutely _no way_ that this is happening. Even though he’s still got no clue what _this_ is, it’s just… _not happening._

“Here you go, mate,” Adam says, his face bearing the faint traces of concern now that he’s had a few minutes to wake up. “You don’t think something’s happened to him, do ya? He was pretty drunk when he left here.” 

Aaron smiles at Adam even though he’s gritting his teeth under it all, his voice as reassuring as he can make it when he replies, “He probably just wandered off some place and fell asleep. I’ll sort it.”

He takes a dozen or so steps down the path, makes sure he’s out of range of Adam hearing him as he dials Robert’s number - getting it wrong three times thanks to fumbling fingers - and waits for the ring. 

“Please, pick up,” he hisses under his breath. “Come on you bastard, just _pick up._ ” 

He doesn’t. All Aaron gets is the cheerful sound of Robert’s voice message. And whatever amount of hope he had left crumbles to dust at his feet. 

He still turns brightly to Adam, holding his mobile up in the air and asking, “You mind if I borrow this for a while? Robert’s somehow found himself at a bar in Hotten and he needs me to come rescue him.” 

“Sure, mate, whatever you need,” Adam says with evident relief. And Aaron wishes they could switch places, if even for a moment. Just so long as he didn’t have to live as him right now, assuming Robert is already dead. 

“Thanks,” he manages to force through the bile in his throat before smiling once more at Adam and heading back to Paddy’s, his hands shaking as he dials another number and pulls the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” Meg asks after a half dozen rings. 

“Meg,” Aaron sobs. “It’s me.” 

He can hear the rustling of a duvet in the background, the click of a light being turned on before Meg says, “Aaron? What’s happened?”

She sounds terrified, but she also sounds so very _Meg,_ which to Aaron has been a synonym to the word _saviour_ for as long as he can remember. 

“It’s Robert. He’s… I… I don’t know where… he’s just…”

“Aaron,” Meg snaps but in a soothing way, if that makes any sense. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.” 

He does exactly as she’s told him, taking one “deep” breath that only gets about halfway down his chest before saying, “Robert is missing, and I think-”

_I think your dad has taken him,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t know if he can say that yet, not to her, not to _himself._ So instead he just says, “Robert is missing and I need you to track his phone for me.” 

“I’m going right now,” Meg says, still so strongly Aaron could cry. But it’s not the time for tears either, not yet. And so he listens to Meg pad down the hall, presumably to Patrick’s room because he’s got the only kind of tech that they need in the entire house. 

“Patrick, I’m sorry to wake you up, but I need your,” Meg says as she confirms Aaron’s suspicions. But when she stops and puffs out a confused, “Huh,” Aaron’s stomach continues to sink. 

“He’s not there?” Aaron asks despite not really wanting to know the answer. 

“No. Weird. Whatever, that just means I can use his stuff again without having to tell him.” 

_Or it just means he’s out somewhere,_ Aaron thinks miserably, _with his dad… with his brothers… with Ro-_

He’s not gonna think that, remember? There’s no point in thinking that, not until he knows. And maybe he’ll never know, yeah? Maybe Robert will be in the cricket pavilion, sleeping like a tired, drunken baby. Or maybe-

“Remind me what his number is again?” Meg says, interrupting Aaron’s spinning thoughts. Her end of the line deadly silent as Aaron rattles off the numbers to her, making sure not to mess up this time because _time_ might not be something he has on his side anymore. Every second might count, and so Aaron’s not gonna give up a single one of them without a fight. 

“You’ve gone a little quiet on me,” Meg says after about a minute of Aaron curling up inside his own brain. “Are you alright?” 

_No,_ Aaron thinks. _I am most definitely_ **_not_ ** _alright._ But he still says, “Yeah,” because what the hell else is he gonna say? The truth? 

What even is the truth? 

“Where do you think he’s gone?” Meg asks next, continuing in her mission to pry the information out of him, one sweetly worded sentence at a time. 

“I’m hoping he just passed out somewhere. He was at his sister’s tonight and they were… drunk. Really drunk. So that’s probably where he is, right? Just off drunk somewhere, forgot his way back to where we were staying, not somewhere else. Somewhere where he… where he…” 

He trails off once again, images of Gordon splashing across his brain, of the last time Cal decided to kill someone for Aaron. And he can’t… he can’t fucking _deal with this_ right now. With doom and gloom and blood and… and…

“Aaron, how about you tell me what’s really going on?” Meg says tightly, yanking Aaron back to the present again as he walks into Paddy’s house and steals the keys to his SUV from the hook by the door, just in case. 

“I can’t,” he says as he begins to shake, head to toe, full body _tremble._ Which is weird because he’s inside now, where it’s warmer, only his body is acting like he’s in the arctic, his legs all but giving out on him as he walks back outside, circling around to Paddy’s car. 

“You think something’s happened to him?” she asks, shakily herself, which isn’t gonna help here. He needs her to keep it together because that’s his only shot of keeping it together himself. 

So he says, “No, I don’t,” lying just all up and down the place because maybe, just _maybe_ if he says it enough times, it’ll be true. 

“Damnit, Aaron!” she snaps. Flat out _snaps._ “I’m sick of you lying to me. I’m sick of not knowing that something is wrong until my dad tells me that he’s found a pool of your blood next to a dead body, enough blood that _you_ might be dead. I want answers. I want… I want-”

“I think it’s him, is that what you want to hear!” he shouts. He’s lucky he’s inside the car now, the doors and windows shut, because he legitimately _shouts_ in her ear. 

“Him who?” she asks, not following like usual. 

“Your dad, alright? Or one of… one of your stupid brothers. But it’s Cal, I know it’s Cal, Meg. I know he’s got Robert and I think…” He trails off, not really wanting to say the next words that were gonna spill out of his mouth. 

“You think what?” 

He places his head against the steering wheel, shuts his eyes to the tears falling down his face and bites his lip once, hard, before saying, “I think he’s gonna kill him, if he hasn’t already.” 

Meg laughs. It’s not a mocking one, it’s more nervous, scared maybe even, but she still laughs in Aaron’s face, basically. Which makes him feel like hanging up on her if he didn’t desperately need her to finish what she’s doing right now. 

“Why would my dad want to kill Robert?” 

Aaron shrugs for no one. “Because he doesn’t want me to be happy? Because he doesn’t want me to rely on anyone but him? Because he’s a sadistic bastard who wants to ruin my life? Take your pick, Meg, I mean _really,_ take your fucking pick!” 

There’s no laughter this time. There’s nothing but the distant silence of keyboard keys no longer typing and Meg’s breath, harsh and ragged as she sits stunned down the other end of the phone. 

“He killed my dad,” Aaron says lowly, one of the many things he’s never told her because he’s always wanted to protect her from the truth of him, of Cal, of what they do for a living and of the kind of people they are. 

“Did it right in front of me, on my eighteenth birthday n’all. It was a bloody mess, Meg. Nothing pretty about it. And then he told me I was his like I’m some… like I’m some kind of _thing._ So yeah, I think he’d kill Robert. I think he’d kill Robert and not even bat an eye. So if you could _please,_ for the love of god, start typing again I’d really appreciate it.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she does start typing again, running whatever illegal program she knows of to track a phone without its owner’s permission. And Aaron… well, he loves her for that, doesn’t he? For the ways in which she trusts him despite her entire life telling her not to. 

“I found him,” she says a minute later, her voice numb, _dead_ as it fills the line back up. 

“Where is he?” 

“It looks like he’s in a farm not too far from Emmerdale village. Give me a sec and I’ll text you a map.”

Adam’s phone vibrates a few seconds later, announcing the arrival of Meg’s message. And despite the many ways this can still go tit’s up, there’s a small bubble of relief in Aaron’s chest because at least now he has a direction. Which is more than he had ten minutes ago. 

“Do you want… want I should call the police?” Meg asks quietly before Aaron’s got a chance to hang up on her. “If dad really… if there’s really a… if there might be-”

“No police,” Aaron says adamantly, stopping Meg from her ramblings. “I don’t know what your dad will do if he sees them coming.” 

“And you? If he sees you coming?” 

_I don’t know that either,_ Aaron thinks a bit miserably. Up until a short while ago, Aaron thought Cal was just gonna accept him back into the fold once Robert was gone. For all he knows now, maybe Aaron’s about to walk into the middle of a _double_ homicide. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says honestly. He’s going to find Robert, and he’s going to do everything he can to make sure Robert is okay. His own safety means next to nothing when put up against that. 

“Be careful,” she whispers, but Aaron doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. As of right now, _careful_ is no longer a part of his vocabulary. 

~*~ 

Aaron knows he should be surprised that Cal’s brought Robert to the same derelict farmhouse he spent three days in last week, but he’s recently realized that Cal literally knows every single thing there is to know in the whole bloody world. So why wouldn’t he bring Robert here, a place with at least some significance to Aaron while still being remote and isolated enough to do whatever the hell he wants? 

And why wouldn’t he expect Aaron to come walking through that door alone? 

That last one is why he doesn't bother doing a sweep of the place. If Cal’s the one inside with Robert - which Aaron is all but positive he is - then he probably already knows Aaron is here. Hell, he probably already knows what Aaron is _wearing._ So what’s the point in trying to be stealth? 

So he walks directly towards the front door, not even bothering to try and muffle the slam of the car door, and turns the knob like he knows it will be open. 

It is. 

The door opens onto a main hallway, one that’s currently lit by flipping candles like _that’s_ not done to freak him out, make him feel like he’s in some sort of horror picture, which he is, isn’t he? His heart sure is pounding hard enough to be in one, his body still feeling the after effects of the tremors as he moves down the hall at a normal pace, halfway between _I need to run to get to Robert_ and _I need to crawl so as not to see what’s on the other end._

There’s more candles in the sitting room, a fire roaring in the fireplace, which means it takes Aaron a second to register the nightmare before him. 

Robert, tied to a chair, bound and gagged with eyes as wide as saucers as they turn towards Aaron. Wide and _hazy_ from the beating it’s clear he’s been taking over the last few hours, judging by the blood all over his face and shirt. 

His whole body sags, the word _no_ the only one his mind can process as he looks out at what he’s done, what he’s dragged Robert into. His Robert, his sweet, kind, supportive, loving Robert who never should’ve had the misfortune of meeting Aaron. 

“Welcome to the party, bro,” Aaron hears from off to his side before he feels a granite-like fist sink into his stomach. When his body starts to crumple from the pain, though, his arms are pinned behind him, then used to yank him back up as Sean’s gleeful voice says, “Dad wanted to make sure you were here for the main event.” 

He sees Cal now, over by the fireplace, hidden in the shadows. Now that his eyes know to look for something other than Robert, he can see the man that claimed to be his father as clear as day. 

Can see the way he’s wiping Robert’s splattered blood off his face. 

Can see the way he’s rubbing at the brass knuckles on his right hand. 

“Before you kick off, Aaron,” Cal says as he begins walking across the room, leaving Robert alone for now which is just fine by Aaron. “I want you to know that I’m doing this for your own good.” 

As soon as Cal is close enough, Aaron spits in his face. 

“Fuck you,” he growls. “This isn’t for my own good, it’s for _yours._ So don’t try to sell me on your bullshit.” 

It’s probably the wrong response. Aaron should probably be begging right now. But pleading has never been something that Cal’s had any patience with before, so why should Aaron think that would change now? 

Cal actually smiles as he uses the bloodied rag to wipe the spit off his face. The smile he uses when he’s _proud_ of Aaron. And it makes Aaron sick to his stomach now, to see that expression, to know what’s behind it. So sick that he has to take calming breaths through his nose to keep from vomiting. 

“My son,” Cal says while laying a heavy hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “You’ve been led astray. But it’s not your fault. It’s his.” 

He turns to face Robert at that, pulling Aaron closer to him in the process, one arm stretched out so he can point at where Robert is quietly bleeding across the room. 

“You’re mine, Aaron,” he says as he turns back to face him. Cupping his hands around Aaron’s neck now and pressing their foreheads together in a gesture that makes Aaron’s skin crawl. 

“You’re more mine than my own flesh and blood. You got over Jackson. You’ll get over him, too, and then we can all be a family again.” 

Something shudders up Aaron’s spine, the word, “Jackson?” slipping off his tongue before he even knows he’s saying it. Because of all the things Cal knows, he never imagined he knew that. 

Cal’s eyes light up with something almost bashful, his laugh shy this time as he butts their heads together twice before saying, “I needed to get him away from you. He wanted to take you away from me, and I just couldn’t have that, Aaron.” 

_No,_ Aaron thinks again. _No, no, no, no,_ **_no._ ** But even he can’t lie to himself that much, can’t find anything but truth in what Cal just said because _of course_ he had Jackson killed. Why wouldn’t he? And that’s when it hits him. 

Robert’s gonna die here. 

“Please don’t do this,” he says, resulting to begging in the end because he can’t think of anything else to do. Any other way to save him. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, I promise. I was gonna keep up my end of the deal, you know I was. So just… you just don’t have to do anything here. Just let him go and I’ll never see him again, you have my _word._ Just please don’t-”

“Can we get this moving? Some of us have places to be,” Liam says from the other side of the room, Aaron’s eyes focusing on him now, on where he’s standing next to a very bored looking Patrick, both of them holding guns like they’re bloody toys. 

“Your brother has a point,” Cal says before placing a kiss to Aaron’s forehead. “I can make it quick or I can take it slow, your choice, lad.” 

Aaron is dizzy all of a sudden, spun around to eight years ago, brass knuckles or a knife Aaron left lying on a warehouse floor in a pool of his own blood. And he can’t do this again. Can’t choose. Can’t watch. _He can’t let this happen again_ and so he starts struggling against Sean’s grip. 

Cal smiles once more, slapping Aaron lightly on the cheek twice before saying, “Slow, it is,” and heading back towards Robert and there’s just… there’s gotta be something… there _has to be something_ that he can do. Some way… somehow. 

This can’t be how this ends. 

So he tries to ignore the way the brass knuckles sound as they crash against Robert’s flesh, his bones. Tries to ignore the way Sean’s arms grip his like a vise. Tries to ignore the way Robert is slumping forward, the way Cal has to grab his hair and drag him up every time he wants to hit him. Aaron tries to ignore _all of that_ and just _pushes._

He’s out of Sean’s arms and on his knees in front of Robert in a second, pulling the gag out of his mouth and running his hands through Robert’s hair, saying soft words that he has no control over. All, “you’re okay, you’re just fine, I’m here now, I’ll protect you, I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again, I love you, Rob, I love you so much, I love you-”

Sean yanks him back again, with Aaron struggling against him every step. But when Sean has to punch Aaron to get him under control, the sharp cry that escapes Aaron’s mouth seems to bring Robert right back to the land of the living. 

“Aaron?” he asks, his voice so small, so pained that Aaron can’t help but hiccup out a sob just hearing it. 

“I’m right here!” he calls out from where he’s being restrained yet again. “I’m right here with you, Robert. Just listen to my voice.”

“No,” he says as he shakes his head, his face so covered in blood right now it’s almost unrecognizable. “You gotta… gotta go, Aaron. Shouldn’t be here.” 

Aaron laughs. Then he sobs. Alternating between the two actions as he continues to struggle against Sean. 

“There’s no way I’m leaving you, Robert! No way!” 

Robert looks at him then, looks him dead in the eyes and says in a voice that sounds dead already, “Don’t look. Just close your eyes.” 

The sound of the brass knuckles this time makes everything in Aaron shatter, the crack of bone that can only be Robert’s skull. And Aaron has to watch as Robert’s eyes shut at that, at the way his body goes limp again, and at the way Cal is about to-

He’s across the room before he even knows he’s out of Sean’s grip, his body flung as a shield over Robert’s as he whispers the words, “I love you,” over and over and over again like he thinks they’re some kind of magical spell to keep Robert alive. 

“Liam,” Cal’s voice reaches Aaron’s ears. “Finish this.” 

And even though Aaron can’t see him, he can _see Liam_ coming towards them, can just see him raising the gun. And all Aaron can think is that he has to cover every inch of Robert’s body possible. If he can just cover every single inch, then there will be no way for Liam to shoot him. No way for Liam to… to… to _kill him._ And so that’s what Aaron sets about doing. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers into Robert’s ear as he climbs onto Robert’s lap. “Where you go, I go, okay? Where you go, I go. Where you go, I go. Where you go-”

A shot rings out, echoing around the room. And all Aaron can think is _I’m not dead._ It’s not as comforting of a thought as it should be, though, because if he’s not dead, then Robert…

He leans back, checks for wounds, but all he can see are the ones from the beating. There are no bullet wounds, no gaping holes, and when he places his hand on Robert’s chest, it feels like he’s still breathing. Which means…

What the hell does that mean?

He turns around then, tries to figure out what’s going on behind him, but for some reason, Cal is on the floor. He’s just lying there, staring up at Aaron with this blank look on his face and Aaron _doesn’t get it._

Not until he sees the blood forming a pool beneath Cal’s head, or the small hole in the center of his forehead. That means… it means Cal is… Cal is… but why? 

Liam walks over to Cal’s body, the murder weapon still in his hand, his voice devoid of anything even remotely human as he spits on Cal, just how Aaron had done, and says, “Piece of shit.” 

Aaron flinches at his words, at the sentiment behind them, because Cal’s dead. Cal MacFarlane is dead. That’s like killing a god, isn’t it? Impossible. Unlikely, at the very least, and yet there he is, very much dead. 

Aaron doesn’t know how to process that. He doesn't get time to, though, not before Liam comes over to him, drags him from Robert’s lap and slams him into the wall next to the fireplace. 

The barrel of Liam’s gun is shoved under Aaron’s chin, pressing so hard it’ll likely leave a bruise. And for not the first time today, Aaron thinks _this is it._ He’s not alive after all, neither is Robert. Not really. They may not be dead but they’re already _dead._ Aaron can’t save anybody. Only for some reason, Liam doesn’t pull the trigger. 

“The only reason I’m letting you live is because I don’t want to bury three bodies,” he says coldly, just like always. “But if I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. You got that?” 

Aaron nods, even though he’s not sure he’s gotten anything. But it seems like something Liam wants him to do and so he does it. Because maybe if he does what Liam wants, he’ll get the chance to save Robert’s life. 

“Thanks for not telling him about my little murder attempt, by the way,” Liam says with a plastered on smile that might as well be made of plastic. “I’d probably be dead right now if he’d known I tried to kill his precious little project. Not much he can do about it now, though, right?” 

Liam laughs at that, knees Aaron once in the gut and lets him fall to the floor before saying to Sean and Patrick, “Get the body,” and helping to carry out Cal like he means nothing. And maybe he does. 

Maybe he always did. 

None of that matters anymore, though. Not when Aaron has more pressing things to deal with. So he crawls back over to Robert and, with trembling fingers, looks for a pulse. Praying to any god that will listen that he’ll find one. 


	28. Nobody But You

The incessant beeping of the heart rate monitor should be a comfort, and it is, to an extent. It means that Robert is alive, that Cal didn’t kill him after all, and that he’s not already gone to some place where Aaron can’t follow. 

There’s still all the other stuff, though. The _linear skull fracture_ this and _multiple contusions_ that. The _four broken ribs_ and _swelling on the brain._ The internal injuries, internal _bleeding,_ and everything else that goes along with the beating Robert suffered at Cal’s hands. And so while the beeping is a comfort, it can only take Aaron so far before he just careens off the side of the road anyway.

He’s alive, but he might not be for much longer. 

“We’ve put him in a medically induced coma for now,” the doctor had said once Aaron had waited out over three hours of Robert in theatre without a single word of encouragement and no company but the accusing voices in his head. “It’ll give him a chance for the swelling to go down and for his other wounds to heal up some. We’ll let you know when there’s more information.” 

And then he’d smiled awkwardly at Aaron, put an even more awkward hand on his shoulder, and left Aaron to his beeping. 

At least he’s allowed to be with Robert. That’s another bit of bright side. But even that can’t bring him much peace because if Aaron is honest, Robert looks like he’s already dead. His head all bandaged up, his face and arms covered in cuts and bruises, and his skin waxy where the natural colour manages to peek through - all of that makes him look like he might as well be lying in a pine box and not a hospital bed. 

And Aaron can’t escape the fact that he was the one who put him there. 

That’s almost what he’d told the police when they’d come to speak with him while Robert was still in surgery. Aaron had driven Robert to hospital himself, had told everyone that would listen that he’d been out looking for his wayward drunken boyfriend and had found him like this on the side of the road. But deep down, he’d wanted to scream the roof down with the truth. 

What good would it have done, though, eh? Cal is dead, and keeping Liam sweet is the only guarantee that he won’t come back and finish the job. So he’d lied through his teeth, played the grieving, panicked boyfriend to a tee, not hard to do because he is actually both grieving and panicked, and spun the police a story of random attackers or a hit and run that had gotten them off his back, for now. 

Which just leaves him with this, a steady, mind-numbing beep that would put Aaron to sleep if his system weren’t so flooded with adrenaline he’s half worried he’s gonna have a heart attack. 

At least he’d be with Robert then. 

He waits a good three hours before he calls Victoria. At least he thinks it’s three hours. Time is passing at such a strange rate that he can’t grasp if he’s been here for ten minutes or ten days. 

The sun is fairly high in the sky when he looks out the window, though, so it must be near lunchtime. At least that’s what the tray of food in front of him that’s certainly not for Robert says. But when he goes to make the call, he freezes. 

He can’t _text_ her to say her brother is banging on death’s door, can he? 

To hell with it. Apparently he can. 

He turns Adam’s phone off immediately after he sends the text. Would probably chuck it across the room, in fact, if he weren’t worried about breaking someone else’s property. And then he waits. 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Guilt. Guilt. Guilt._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Fear. Fear. Fear._

_Beep. Beep._ **_Beep._ **

He can hear Vic coming all the way down the hall, her voice high-pitched and terrified as she begs whatever nurse or doctor she’s cornered to tell her how her brother is doing. Before she gets her answer, though, she’s bursting through the door, tears streaking down her face and her hands covering her mouth as she sobs, “Robert!” 

Chas, of all people, follows her into the room, her face drained of colour, making her lipstick stand out starkly. But Aaron can’t bring himself to care why she’s here, not when he’s got Vic to worry about. 

“Robert, what’s happened?” Vic asks the room at large as she dashes across to the other side of Robert’s bed, reaching out to grab his hand and shuddering at how cold and clammy it must feel. 

Robert’s left hand is warm finally, but only because Aaron has been holding it for hours. 

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks again, this time directly to Aaron. And there’s something in her eyes when she looks at him, something dark that might frighten him if he weren’t explicitly looking for someone to blame him, shout at him, tell him this is all his fault so the voices in his head can have real ones to agree with. 

He still hasn’t decided whether he wants to lie to her or not, so he simply says, “He got beaten up,” and leaves it at that. 

“I can see that, Aaron,” she snaps. “I mean what’s wrong with him _specifically_?” 

He shrugs, squeezes Robert’s limp hand even harder than he was before, feels the way his skin is loose over his bones, and says, “A lot.” 

If looks could kill, Vic would be up for murder right now.

“The head injuries are the worst,” he says around the bile coating his tongue. “He’s got… got a fracture and… and swelling. They put ‘im in a coma until that’s gone down.” 

Vic sobs, once, twice, three times, trying to catch each one in her cupped hands before saying, “You said that was the worst. What… what else?” 

It takes Aaron a few deep breaths to continue. “He had some internal bleeding as well, damage to his kidneys they reckon. And he’s got at least… _fuck,_ ” he whispers under his breath. “He’s got four broken ribs as well, which is why his breathing isn’t so great even without the coma stuff.” 

“The coma stuff,” Vic repeats with a bitter laugh, the darkness back in her eyes when she kisses the back of Robert’s hand then stares back at Aaron and asks, “Who did this?” 

The lie comes out without thinking. 

“I don’t know. I found ‘im on the side of the road.” 

The laugh that escapes Victoria’s mouth is truly scary, mirthless and mean as she says lowly, “Now why don’t I believe you?” 

“Watch your tone,” Chas says from where she’s still just standing by the door. And truth be told, Aaron had already forgotten she was even there. He looks at her now, though, her face like thunder as she stares Vic down, only Vic doesn’t look anywhere near ready to back off. 

It’s probably why she scoffs at Chas before saying, “He’s been your son for what? All of a week? And you’re already standing up for him even though he’s clearly lying?” 

“I’m not lying,” Aaron lies, a stupid move given the way it whips Vic’s attention back to him. 

“Yes you _are._ My brother told me about you, you know. About the drug dealing, about getting shot. He takes up with you and then all of a sudden he mysteriously gets beaten up and left for dead on the side of the road when the last thing he said to me was that he was going back to you? Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“It doesn’t matter what you want to believe,” Chas says even more forcefully than before. “If Aaron says he doesn’t know what happened, then he doesn’t know what happened. And you’ve got no right to claim otherwise.” 

“No right?” Vic asks, shouting the repeat, “No right?! He’s _my brother._ I’ve got every right to want to protect him from the likes of… the likes of him!” 

She’s on her feet at that, stalking her way over to Chas. And Aaron… he can’t listen to this right now. Can’t listen to the way they continue to tear chunks out of each other, their voices getting increasingly louder, rattling around Aaron’s head until the only thing he can think to do is drape his body over Robert’s and cover Robert’s ears because Robert shouldn’t be hearing all this shouting right now, should he? 

He needs peace. Needs quiet. Needs a place where he can rest and get better and Chas and Vic’s slanging match isn’t helping anything. 

“Oi! What’s going on in here?” Adam asks a minute or so later, his presence like that of a flipping angel as far as Aaron’s concerned as he continues to just protect Robert’s ears from the onslaught of noise. 

“She started it,” Chas accuses, and judging by the way Vic shrieks the word, “Me?!” Aaron can tell this is nowhere near through. 

Which is why he’s more grateful than he can say when Adam drags both women out of the room, telling them that they can, “finish this outside.” Leaving Aaron and Robert alone once again. 

Aaron would be fine if everyone just left them alone _forever._

“You alright love?” a voice comes to him a few minutes later. 

He’s still just draped over Robert, his fingers toying with the edge of his bandage now, gently so as not to disturb his healing. And Aaron is so startled to hear anybody else that he snaps back into his seat like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. 

There’s a nurse in the room now, a bit older, maybe in her fifties with her graying hair pulled up into a bun and one of the most sympathetic looks Aaron has ever seen drawn into the lines of her face. 

“Me?” he asks, his voice hoarse like he was the one having a row in the middle of Robert’s hospital room. 

The nurse smiles before crossing the room and taking a seat on the end of Robert’s bed. “Yes, you. The short one was saying some pretty harsh things about you before.” 

“You heard that?” 

Her smile softens even more, if that’s at all possible. “The whole ward heard it, love. We were just getting security ‘round when that nice young lad came and got them out.”

“It’s not true, you know,” he says miserably but with a fair bit of defensiveness thrown in. “I don’t do what she said. Not anymore, anyway.” 

The nurse doesn’t say anything, just tips her head as if to tell him to _go on._

“What I mean is, I’m not a danger to anyone here, I swear. Just… just please don’t chuck me out.” 

She laughs at him, sweetly though, not mockingly. Which calms Aaron’s spiking nerves even before she says, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Not leastwise because I’m sure this one would have some pretty choice words for me when he wakes up if I did.” 

“W-when?” Aaron asks, his hand finally returning to Robert’s as he stares at the nameless nurse with tears in his eyes. “You really think he… he will?” 

She studies his face for a second then sighs. “I saw you when you brought him in, you know. The way you were with him… anyone could see that you love him. So if he loves you even half as much as you seem to love him, I can’t see anything stopping him from waking up and coming back to you.” 

Aaron chokes on a sob, doing his best to hold it together because there’s no point in losing it in front of a complete stranger. But in all the things he’s heard since he got to the hospital hours and hours ago, the one thing he didn’t hear was that Robert would wake up. That, like she said, he’d _come back to him._

He didn’t know how much he needed that until he actually heard it. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says, his voice little more than a rasp as he continues to hold back the tears waiting to burst out of him. 

“No need to thank me, love. But if you want to make it up to me, you could eat that lunch I brought you before it goes totally rank. You won’t be any use to him if you’re falling down yourself.”

She gets to her feet at that, pushing the rolling tray of food closer to Aaron before winking and heading out the door. 

Then and only then do the tears come. 

~*~

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Vic says when she returns about a half hour later, Adam and Chas in tow. “I didn’t mean to blame you for this.” 

“It’s alright,” Aaron replies, doing his best to not sound like he’s falling apart inside even though he is. 

“No, it’s not alright. Regardless of… what happened, you clearly didn’t do this to him, so I never should’ve implied you were to blame.” 

Aaron looks her in the eye finally, sees the sincerity, and wonders if he wouldn’t rather have the anger back. Especially when she adds, “I know… I know that he loves you. A lot. More than I’ve ever seen him love anyone before. And we’d have a right barney if he knew I was piling on you right now.” 

She smiles then. It’s thin and small, wet and sad, but it’s there. And that’s something, he supposes, even though it still feels a bit like a knife to the gut. 

“Would you mind if… would it be alright if I just… if I had a few minutes with him? Alone?” 

Aaron wants to say no. Whether he was aware of it or not, the second he entered this room he’d made a pact with himself, a pact with _Robert,_ that he wouldn’t leave it until Robert was awake. 

But Vic had apologized, she’d come back here and she’d _apologized._ And she’s the only real family Robert’s got left, or the only one he cares about anyway. So if she wants some time alone with him, Aaron’s gotta give it to her whether he wants to or not. 

“Is it okay if I stay just outside?” he asks shakily, his whole body trembling as well as he squeezes Robert’s hand _hard_ and dreads the moment he has to get to his feet. 

“Of course. I just need a little time, that’s all.” 

Aaron nods, looking to Robert one final time before trailing his fingers gently over Robert’s brow, leaning in to kiss him once on his bruised cheek, trying not to touch the tubes taped to his mouth, and getting properly to his feet. 

He settles himself on the other side of the room’s small window as soon as he’s in the hall, willfully ignoring both Chas and Adam because the only person he cares about in this hospital, in this _world_ is lying in a bed too far away for him to reach. 

His heart pounds at the distance, his palms sweating without Robert’s hand to hold. And he almost loses his feet entirely with the way his body just feels weighed down so that he has to reach out and place his hands against the glass if only to hold himself up. 

He watches Vic take _his_ seat, watches her scoot up close to the bedside, hold the hand he’s been warming all day. And it makes a fierce press of anger rise through his chest, misplaced though it may be, as he’s forced to watch someone comforting _his Robert._

His Robert. _His Robert._ **_His…_ **

“Are you alright there sweetheart?” his mother asks from just over his shoulder. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he responds bitterly as he continues to watch someone that isn’t him stand vigil at Robert’s bedside. 

“Because your fists are so tight the skin over your knuckles seems fit to burst?” 

She reaches over his shoulder at that, trails her fingers over the knuckles in question. And Aaron hadn’t even realized he’d been making fists, hadn’t realized he’d been tensing his whole body, holding his breath. Only now that he’s noticed, it’s the only thing in the world he wants to do. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” he grinds out, quiet enough so as not to disturb any of the other rooms given how conscious he is now about the prospect of being tossed out and told not to return. 

“I’m here to support you, love,” she replies, running her hand over his shoulder this time in a way that’s supposed to soothe but doesn’t. 

“I don’t need your support. I never did and I never will.” 

“I’m gonna go get us all some coffee,” Adam says awkwardly, reminding Aaron that he’s actually there. And so within moments, he and his mother are alone. 

He could think of about a dozen places he’d rather be right now, all of them with Robert. 

“Whether or not you think you need it,” Chas says like she’s walking on eggshells. “I want you to know that you _have_ it, son. You always will.” 

She goes to walk away at that, but before she gets too far, an alarm begins to sound. And that, coupled with a panicked Vic getting to her feet and stumbling away from the bed tells Aaron immediately that the alarm is for Robert. 

He tries to get into the room, but Robert’s doctor beats him to it. 

“Stay out here, love,” the nurse behind him says, the one from before, that had told Aaron Robert would wake up. Only this is the furthest thing possible from waking up. This is _distress._ And Aaron… Aaron…

He falls to his knees, not really his choice so much as it’s the will of gravity, his forehead pressed to the cold wall as he brings his fists up to cover his ears, block out the sound of whatever is happening on the other side of this wall. 

“Oh sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, I promise,” his mother says as she sinks to the ground next to him, placing an arm over his shoulders and tucking him into her side like he’s a kid again. 

“Don’t… don’t say that,” he sobs out, the tears just coming like there’s no filter for ‘em, no way to stop them. But Chas just shushes him, kisses the side of his head and holds him because she either didn’t hear what he said or didn’t register it. 

He can’t hear her say that, though. Can’t have her promise Robert will be okay because if he’s not… if he’s not… 

He’ll never forgive her. 

And yeah, it’s just one more thing to hold against her, but he doesn't want this one. He doesn't want to lose… to think… he can’t handle any of it, so he just lets his mum hold him as he cries and waits. 

The sound stops eventually, everything in the ward going deadly silent, and there’s only two things that can mean: 

Robert is okay. 

Or Robert is dead. 

“Can you,” he starts to ask, his voice still choked up, his eyes still shut tight. “Can you check? Can you… check on… check on…”

“Yes, love, straight away,” Chas says hastily before popping to her feet. But she must not be able to see anything proper because she says, “The doctors are in the way. Just let me go…”

She trails off, the warmth of her presence disappearing as Aaron stays huddled on the floor. And he finds himself holding his breath again, holding it all in so tight his lungs hurt as he waits… and waits… and waits…

“He’s alive!” Chas exclaims as she returns to the hallway, and for the first time since he crumpled to the ground, Aaron opens his eyes. Sees the look of unbridled joy on his mother’s face and finds himself feeling some of the same. 

“He is?” he asks, needing confirmation, needing her to _say it again_ so he can believe it. So his flaming bones can _believe it._

“Yes, love, he’s alive,” she says through her own tears as she kneels on the ground beside him again. “Some swelling in his throat displaced the ventilator tube, but they’re giving him something for the swelling and everything else is right as rain. He’s just _fine,_ I swear it.” 

He falls into her arms at that, grief and relief coupling to make him collapse completely. And he knows he’s sending her mixed signals, that this isn’t really something that he wants, but he needs to feel arms around him right now and Meg isn’t here. Cal isn’t… No one else is here and so she’ll have to do. 

“Just breathe,” his mum coaxes as she holds him tightly to her, running her palm gently up and down his back, just over his spine, like she used to do when he was a kid and couldn’t sleep for fear of the monsters under his bed. 

The monsters changed as he grew up, became more real, and she wasn’t there to tell him he was alright. But the monsters are gone now, dead and buried, and she’s here for once. She’s holding him _for once._ And he’ll take it, if only for a little while. 

Because Robert is alive. He’s still not dead. And if Aaron has anything to say about it, he’ll never be. 

~*~

Things are quiet that night. Vic, Adam and his mum all stay until the end of visiting hours, chatting lightly as Aaron does little more than stare off into space. But when the time comes for everyone to leave, Aaron stands his ground. 

Thank god there’s a loo attached to Robert’s room, because after what happened earlier, there’s no way he’s leaving this room again.

His favourite nurse whose name he still doesn’t know talks to the nurses on the night shift, puts in a good word for him, he guesses, because on her way home she quietly hands him a blanket and a pillow like that’s all that needs to be done. 

He’s more grateful than he can ever put into words. 

He doesn’t sleep a single wink that night, spending his time as he does sitting up and watching Robert breathe, acting like he believes if he can just stay awake, he can do Robert’s breathing for him. In and out, that sorta thing. 

It works, anyway, judging by the fact that Robert is still alive as the sun begins to crawl across the sky. And what’s a little lost sleep put up against _that,_ eh? 

He’d given Adam his phone back the night before, which means there’s nothing to interrupt Aaron’s manual breathing exercise. No visitors even for a whole day and a half until it’s the third day of Robert’s coma and Cain Dingle comes striding through the door. 

“Your mum said she didn’t want to bother you,” Cain says as he plops into the other chair and puts his boots up on Robert’s bed. 

“So she sent you here to bother me instead?” Aaron asks darkly as he leans back in his chair and presses his fists to his eyes. 

“No, she sent me here to check on you. And judging by the fact that you look worse than a horse’s backside, it weren’t an altogether bad idea on her part I reckon.” 

“‘M fine,” Aaron groans, opening his bloodshot eyes so he can glare at his uncle. “I don’t need to be checked up on. S’not like I’m the one in the hospital bed, is it?” 

“Speaking of beds, you slept at all since you’ve been here? ‘Cause judging by the size of those bags under your eyes, you look ready to move your entire flat in one trip.” 

“What are you, my nursemaid?” Aaron asks bitterly, tired as he is of this conversation. 

“No, I’m your uncle. And you better remember that, son, before you start mouthing off to me.” 

Aaron laughs, because really, he’s had more than his fair share of father figures telling him what to do in his life. 

_The last two are dead because of me,_ he wants to say. _Fancy your chances of being number three?_ But then he sees something in Cain’s eyes, a flash of genuine worry. And all of a sudden every bit of ire he felt just flushes away. 

“I’m not moving until he wakes up,” Aaron says, defeated, because he doesn’t know how many more times he can explain this to people. 

Cain takes his feet off Robert’s bed and leans forward on his forearms. “Could take months.” 

“Don’t say that,” Aaron snaps. “Just… don’t. I can’t handle that right now.” 

Cain just nods, leans forward enough to pull a magazine out of his back pocket and return to his previous position of feet up on Robert’s bed. 

He doesn’t say anything else for two whole hours, just sits there reading his magazine and eating Aaron’s cold toast while completely ignoring the man in the coma in the center of the room. 

It feels… good. Weird, but good. 

And then, just as suddenly as he’d come in, Cain is leaving, following the nurse’s visiting hours urgings to head for the door. Before he does, though, he walks over to Aaron and leans down slightly so he can put his hand on his shoulder. 

“Anything you need, you just call,” he says as he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a crappy burner phone. 

“It’s got all our numbers in it,” he adds. “Just in case.” And then he’s gone. And once again, Aaron is alone. 

~*~

On the fourth day, the doctors ease off the medical nature of the coma. Which means that it’s all up to Robert now, when he’ll wake up. 

_When,_ not _if._

Also on the fourth day, Meg walks through the door. And Aaron…

Well, Aaron completely loses his shit, doesn’t he? 

His legs are like jelly when he gets up from his chair, but that doesn’t stop him from darting across the room straight into her arms. 

“Meg,” he sighs as he buries his face into the crook of her neck. And for the first time since he woke up to find that Robert was missing, Aaron feels at peace. 

It’s not a long-lasting peace, of course. Not when Meg pulls out of the hug, holds Aaron at arms length, and says, “Aaron, you look shattered.” 

He does. He knows he does. So he doesn’t need anyone to tell him he does. 

“Is that why you came here? To insult me?” he asks petulantly as he makes his way back to his chair, sagging down into it in a way that feels familiar now. Like he belongs here. 

“No, I came here to see how you were. I came because you finally called me - in the middle of the night again - and told me you needed me. How… What happened to Robert?” 

“You don’t know?” Aaron asks as he looks up at where she’s still standing, tears already tracking down his cheeks. 

“How would I know?” 

“I don’t know, I thought maybe Liam would be bragging about it.” 

“I haven’t seen Liam in days. Haven’t seen _any of them_ in days. Aaron… what the hell is going on?” 

She sounds agitated now. No, she sounds _scared._ And so he gets to his feet, points to his chair, and says, “I think you should sit down.” 

Her expression falls at that, like she just _knows_ what he’s gonna tell her is horrible. And it is. He knows it is. But he also knows that she deserves to hear it from him. So he gets her situated, leans against the side of Robert’s bed, and says, “Your dad is dead.” 

She just stares back at him blankly, like what he just said is something her mind is incapable of processing. 

“What do you mean my dad is dead?” 

“I mean Liam killed him, Meg. He, your dad, he kidnapped Robert, beat him to a pulp, then planned on killing him in front of me in some… I don’t know, in some horrifying attempt to get me back on side. He told Liam to… to shoot Robert…”

Aaron pauses there as the memories of that night wash over him. He hasn’t slept much since he’s been here, but every time he does, he dreams of that moment. Of holding on tightly to Robert, just waiting for Liam to pull the trigger. 

“But Liam shot Cal instead. I guess… I guess he thought it was a better way of getting the keys to the kingdom, just swiping ‘em like that. But… fuck, Meg, I’m so sorry but he’s gone. Cal is… he’s gone.” 

Something weird washes over Aaron at that, something almost like sorrow. Like _loss._ But then he remembers that Robert is still not out of the woods, he could still _die,_ and it all happened because Cal just couldn’t let him be happy for five flipping seconds. 

“This isn’t a wind-up, is it?” she asks hollowly, her eyes unfocused as they try to connect with Aaron’s. But she’s lost right now, lost inside her own head, trying to process the truth. And so all Aaron can really do is hug her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says through the emotion clogging up his throat. Not for Cal, not even for Robert right now, but for _her._ For what she’s lost. Because even though Cal was a monster, she never saw that. All she saw was the father who loved her, doted on her. And that’s the man she’s losing even as they speak. 

She begins to cry eventually, heavy, wracking sobs sending shockwaves through her body. And all Aaron can do is try to hold her together. Squeeze his arms as tight as they’ll go and just _hold her_ until the first wave passes. 

There’ll be other waves, lots of them. Aaron will feel some of them as well, because as much as he tried to ruin Aaron’s life, Cal still did _save it,_ so many times. And nothing can fully erase that. 

For now, though, it’s enough for them to just cry together. 

~*~

On the seventh day, the doctor sits down Robert’s closest kin. 

It’s not like the normal progress reports Aaron has grown used to. The daily visits from Dr. Morris telling him things about Robert’s vitals that Aaron has had to look up online every single time the doctor left the room. 

This is different. This is him, Victoria and Adam huddled in a little room with the doctor like he doesn’t want Robert to hear what he’s about to say to them. 

This is a cold chill running down Aaron’s spine even worse than before. 

This is the kind of thing that shatters hope more effectively than a hammer to glass. 

“In no way do I want you to take this as my belief that Robert isn’t going to wake up,” he starts, the type of statement that almost always means the exact opposite. 

“There is plenty to be optimistic about. The swelling in his head has gone down, his other internal injuries seem to be mending well, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I’m concerned with the fact that he’s still… asleep.” 

_Unconscious,_ Aaron thinks. Why can’t he just say the bloody word _unconscious_? 

“What does that mean then?” Vic asks, her voice smaller these days in a way he knows would break Robert’s heart if he could hear it. “That he hasn’t woken up?” 

The doctor’s eyes land on Vic, something both serious and sympathetic in them when he says, “I’m worried about permanent brain damage, if and when he wakes up.” 

It’s the _if_ that really gets Aaron. That and the _permanent brain damage_ bit, of course. And it evidently gets Vic as well because the waterworks start about two seconds later, and about thirty seconds after that she’s bolting from the room. 

Adam goes with her, which just leaves Aaron and Dr. Morris, just like usual. 

He stands there stock still the entire time, listening to everything the doctor has to say. How Robert’s motor functions might be affected, how his memory could have gaps as large as the Grand Canyon. How the longer he stays asleep, the worse things will likely be. 

Aaron just stands there and takes it the way he used to take everything else - the punches from Sean, the men in the alleys - the blows landing differently here because even though he probably deserves this, Robert certainly doesn’t. 

_This is what happens to people you love,_ his dad’s voice swims out of the ether, pressing at his temples, at the backs of his eyes. And Aaron… well, he doesn’t have the energy to fight back right now, does he? 

He’s back by Robert’s side a good fifteen minutes later, his head full of statistics and predictions he doesn’t even want to comprehend. His touch gentle as he takes Robert’s left hand in both of his and kisses each knuckle, one at a time. 

“That doctor doesn’t know what he’s on about,” Aaron says, more to himself than to Robert. Robert who might not wake up. Robert who might have permanent brain damage even if he does. 

“I know you’re in there, and I know you’re just milking this whole coma thing for all the attention you can get. So just… quit already, okay? Because… because I need you here… _proper_ here. Not lying around like a lazybones all day.” 

His voice cracks about halfway through his little speech, tears flowing even though he would’ve thought they’d have dried up days ago. His forehead pressed to Robert’s hand now as Aaron just lets himself cry until he’s sick from it. 

“I showered today,” he says once he’s stopped crying, his throat hoarse from sobbing and his eyes dry and burning from the tears. “Everyone was saying I was stinking up the place, so Paddy brought me some clothes and I finally cleaned up.”

He sniffles, rubs the back of his hand under his nose and continues. 

“I’m wearing that green jumper, you know the one you picked out for me? Wanted to make myself look good for you, so you gotta… you just gotta wake up, Robert. I can’t do this without you. I just… I can’t.” 

He curls around Robert’s hand at that, allowing himself to actually pray for possibly the first real time in his life. But nothing changes. 

Nothing changes. 

And that’s how Aaron eventually cries himself to sleep.

~*~

Four days later, something happens. It starts small at first, a hitch in Robert’s pulse that Aaron only picks up on because he’s spent the better part of the last week and a half listening to nothing but. 

He wonders if he should get a nurse, call Dr. Morris in, do _something,_ but it’s only a hitch, innit? It could just be a fluke. And the thought of leaving Robert’s side for even a second right now is too difficult to bear. 

It happens again, though, a couple minutes later, a slight uptick in Robert’s pulse that makes Aaron’s go wild with something. 

Panic? 

Excitement?

He doesn’t really know. All he _does_ know is that a minute later it happens again. Then forty-five seconds later. Then a half a minute. Then Robert’s heart monitor is setting off bells and whistles and Aaron would be afraid he’s trying to up and die again if he couldn’t swear he just felt Robert’s finger move. 

“Help!” he shrieks. “Somebody help!” But he really needn’t have bothered. The alarms were enough to send seemingly half the ward pouring into the room. 

“We’re going to need you to leave the room, love,” Nurse Cindy says, the one who has been taking care of him for the last eleven days more effectively than his own mother ever has. 

“But I… he… I don’t…”

“We’ll take good care of him, I promise,” she coaxes as she takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. And then Aaron is on the other side of the glass again, staring through a window and begging that Robert isn’t about to die. 

It’s no easier than the first time. 

He hears a choking noise a few minutes later, and that’s something Aaron’s expected, given that Robert has been living for a week and a half with a tube down his throat. It means he’s waking up, doesn’t it? It means he’s _coming back._ And so Aaron cries for an entirely different reason now.

He can’t wait to see those beautiful green eyes. 

He takes his phone out a minute later, his eyes still locked on Robert, what little he can see of him through the sea of hospital personnel. And then he hits Vic’s speed dial number and waits. 

“What’s the matter? Is everything okay? Is Robert okay?” Vic asks in rapid succession, the panic clear in her voice. And it makes Aaron laugh hysterically, which is probably the absolute worst thing he could do right now. 

“Aaron, what’s going on!?” she snaps, and that’s when he says it. For the first time, out loud, with his own air and his own lungs Aaron is allowed to say, “He’s waking up.” 

~*~

The doctor is still with him by the time Vic arrives, but most of the other people have cleared out, which means he’s got a good view of Robert. 

_He’s awake._

He looks drained of color around his yellowing bruises, his face blotchy from the tape used with the ventilator, his body thinner from the lack of solid food over all these days. But he’s still, _still,_ the most beautiful thing Aaron has ever seen in his entire pathetic life. 

“I got here as quick as I could. Has the doctor said anything? Do they know if-”

“Vic,” Aaron interrupts, reaching down to take her hand as he continues to stare at the miracle in front of him. “Just look.” 

She does what he says, sidles up next to Aaron and just _looks._ And the sharp intake of breath mirrors the one Aaron had taken when he first saw Robert, awake and talking. 

_He’s awake._

Vic squeezes his hand hard, using her other one to swipe at the tears that have become a regular feature for both of them. And then the two of them just bask in the silence, in the peace of knowing that Robert isn’t gonna die. 

_He’s alive._

After a while, Dr. Morris comes out and joins them, a smile on his face that says more than words ever could as he places a hand on Aaron’s shoulder and says, “My preliminary checks show that he seems to be doing as well as can be expected. He knows who he is, where he is, and seems to have at least his long term memory intact. He doesn’t seem to remember the attack, but all in all, things are looking very good.”

“Can we see him?” Aaron asks, beating Vic to the punch because he needs to look in Robert’s eyes, needs Robert to look back into his. He needs to know Robert is really _okay_ and the only way that’s gonna happen is if he gets back into that damn room. 

“He’s very weak right now and he needs his rest, but you can see him. Just one at a time, though.” 

Aaron looks to Vic, his eyes just begging her to let him go first. And the way she smiles and nods lightly makes him feel like a kid at Christmas. 

He bolts into the room, there’s no other way to describe it. One second he’s in the hall and the next he’s in the room like he’s the Flash or whatever the name is of that stupid comic book character Robert loves because _do you understand how fast he can move, Aaron, he’s the fastest thing on the entire planet, I would’ve thought you of all people would appreciate that._

God, he loves him. He fucking _loves_ that idiot so much it’s unreal. 

Robert’s eyes fall to Aaron, sleepily, just how the doctor said. But there’s a light in them, something that Aaron knows is reserved just for him, and all of a sudden Aaron is shy. 

Robert’s eyes narrow in confusion when Aaron continues to just stand by the door. And then he does something that almost makes Aaron crumple to the ground. 

He reaches out his hand. 

Aaron is at his side within seconds, grabbing Robert’s outstretched hand and cradling it to his body as he leans down and presses a light kiss to Robert’s lips. 

“I missed you,” he whispers into Robert’s slightly open mouth. “I missed you so much. Please don’t ever do that to me again.” 

Robert’s other hand is in his hair a second later, pulling loosely on the oily strands as he says, “Now you know how I felt.” 

Cheeky git. 

They stare at each other for a solid minute, no words spoken as their eyes go crossed from how close they are to one another, neither one willing or able to move. And Aaron realizes suddenly that he could do this forever, just look into Robert’s eyes _forever._ And that’s a thought that should scare the daylights out of Aaron only… it doesn’t. 

It _really_ doesn’t. 

“I know you don’t remember what happened, but I’m so sorry, Robert. It was all my fault,” he says once he pulls back far enough to reclaim his seat next to Robert’s bed. 

Robert’s brow furrows at that, narrowing down in an emotion Aaron can’t place before he says, his voice raspy from disuse, “I remember it, Aaron. I remember it all.” 

“But...”

Robert shrugs, then winces at the pain the shrug caused. “I lied. Didn’t want… didn’t want you to get in trouble.” 

He’s still protecting him. Even after Aaron almost got him _killed,_ Robert is still protecting him. 

He doesn’t deserve him. No part of Aaron will _ever_ deserve him. 

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” Aaron says with a shake of his head. “You just rest. Just… just close your eyes and rest. Your sister is dying to see you, but after that-”

Robert’s hand grips tightly around Aaron’s when he goes to stand up, stopping him mid-sentence with a look of fear in his eyes that makes Aaron want to curl into a ball and die. 

“Don’t leave me,” Robert begs. “Don’t… don’t… don’t…”

“It’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay,” Aaron soothes him, running his thumb gently over Robert’s still-bruised cheek before kissing him on the lips again. “They’re only allowing one in at a time, but I won’t go far, I promise. See that window over there?” 

He leans back so he can use his free hand to point at what Aaron’s taken to thinking of as _his_ window. 

“I’ll be right on the other side, yeah? And as soon as she’s done, I’ll be right back here. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” 

“Promise?” Robert croaks weakly, his grip loosening on Aaron’s hand. 

Aaron kisses him again, this time a little deeper before whispering, “Promise. I’m never leaving you again, okay? Never.” 

And that’s a promise he intends to keep. 

~*~

Vic’s visit goes well from what Aaron can see, and then he’s back by Robert’s side again, coaxing him to sleep because every time Robert looks at him his eyes go cross. 

He sleeps the rest of the day and most of the night, lying as still as he was before but breathing on his own as Aaron stays up and just watches him _live._

_Never again._

He’s leaning over in his chair sometime around four in the morning, his head pillowed on his arms when he suddenly feels fingers twisting in his hair. 

He sits up immediately, his movements and voice frantic as he asks, “Is everything alright? Do you need anything? Should I get the doctor?”

Robert smiles at him for the first time since waking up. It’s nowhere near his usual smile, the little bit of sunshine emanating from his lips. But it’s still so perfect Aaron can’t help the tears that prick his eyes at seeing it. 

“‘M fine. Just need you,” Robert whispers.

He’s moving over at that, scooching to the outside half of the bed before patting the space next to him and smiling again. 

“Your ribs,” Aaron says instead of listing out _all_ of the many injuries that make Aaron not want to crawl into bed with him. 

“Don’t care,” Robert replies. “Please?” 

And Aaron… Aaron can’t say no, can he?

He curls into Robert’s side as gently as he can, making sure to avoid the worst of his injuries. And it’s like with that, something clicks back into place. Something so _right_ Aaron can’t believe he ever thought he could live without this. 

“I’m sorry,” Robert whispers before kissing the top of Aaron’s head. 

“For what? It’s not like you beat yourself up.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Robert elaborates, and Aaron is stunned speechless. So instead of talking he just wraps his arm around Robert’s waist and holds on as tight as Robert’s injuries will allow. Promising himself all the way that he’ll never let go again. 

~*~

There’s a conversation they need to have, and it happens once Robert has been awake for three whole days. 

They’re lying in Robert’s bed together, a common occurrence now that makes all the nurses bloody coo when they come in to check on Robert. 

Aaron doesn’t care, though. They can embarrass him all they like. Now that he’s here, now that _they’re here,_ there isn’t any way he’s turning back. 

None of that changes what happened, though. So when one night, in the hours just before dawn, Robert asks, “Are we safe?” Aaron takes a deep breath and dives right in. 

“From Liam?” Aaron asks, but Robert just looks at him in confusion. 

“No, from Cal.”

Oh. Right. They really should’ve probably talked about this before now. 

“Cal’s dead, Robert. Instead of killing you, Liam killed him. And he’s… well he’s dead. He’s gone. No longer our problem.” 

Robert stares at him for a few long, bewildered seconds before saying, “Seriously?” 

Aaron kisses him lightly on the lips because he can, now. “Yes, seriously. And we don’t have to worry about Liam either. He won’t do anything to us.”

“How can you be so sure?” Robert asks with more fear than Aaron likes to hear in his voice. “He tried to kill you once already, remember?”

“But that wasn’t about me, really,” Aaron says absently, the memories like ones that belong to someone else, some other Aaron. “It was about how Cal treated me. He’s got no reason to hate me now that Cal’s… gone.” 

“And how are you about that?” Robert asks, his tone a bit less fearful now, a bit more caring. 

“About what?” 

“About Cal being… gone?” 

Aaron shrugs. “I’m fine.” 

Robert gives him the _look_ in response, the one that says _please stop bullshitting me and tell the truth._

Aaron hates that look. 

“Why wouldn’t I be fine with it?” Aaron bites out. 

Now it’s Robert’s turn to shrug. “I can think of a few reasons.” 

Aaron rises up to his elbow at that so he can get a better look at Robert’s face when he says, “He tried to kill you, Robert. He almost did. He can rot for all I care.” 

It’s the truth… mostly. But it’s enough for now. 

“He said you were leaving me,” Robert says after a moment of silence. “That even if you came, it would only be to see me die.” 

“He was lying,” Aaron snaps back, even though that was Cal’s plan all along. Force Aaron to watch another person die, this time one he actually gave a damn about. 

“But he wasn’t lying about all of it, though, was he?” Robert asks, his voice even smaller now. “You were going to leave me, weren’t you? In Spain? That’s why… why before, you were so clingy with me. You were saying goodbye, weren’t you?” 

“You have to know that I didn’t want to let you go,” Aaron says more desperately than he’s used to. “But I couldn’t see any other way out of it all. I meant it when I said all I wanted was to keep you safe.” 

“So you still want me?” Robert asks, still so unsure of himself which isn’t like him either. Not at all. 

So Aaron kisses him as deeply as he can, given Robert’s condition. Kisses him for what feels like hours before he leans back and says, “I want you more than anything. And from this moment onward, I intend to show you.” 

And that’s it. That’s all that Aaron needs to say, all that Robert needs to say. All their words have been spoken. So now? 

Now is the time for actions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left! *runs around screaming*


	29. All You Ever Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after… mostly, anyway.

After three more days in hospital and two and a half weeks convalescing at Paddy’s, Robert moves into a flat in Hotten with Aaron. 

_With Aaron._ As in, _Robert gets to live with Aaron._ That’s an actual thing that’s actually happening in his actual life. 

And the best part is, it wasn’t even really a discussion. Once they’d decided that they needed to find somewhere other than Paddy’s box room to occupy, and once they realized that they were both effectively homeless apart from that, the decision just fell naturally upon them.

“So where are we gonna live then?” Aaron had asked, using “we” in a way Robert had not missed and one he would probably cherish forever. 

“I don’t know. Hotten for now?” Robert had replied. And then Aaron had shrugged, kissed Robert on the cheek, and went off to make them a couple of sarnies. 

That’s it. That’s all it took. Thirteen simple words and he and Aaron successfully navigated the oft feared “moving in together” conversation. 

It was probably the easiest thing they’ve ever done. 

That’s where they are today, moving into their temporary flat until they figure out where they want to permanently land. Robert had professionals pack and move his stuff from Leeds, given how he hadn’t wanted to risk going back into that city with Liam’s threats hanging over their heads. And Meg had kindly agreed to pack up Aaron’s belongings for him. 

So now it’s just a little unpacking party. Even Vic and Adam have agreed to come and help. And by “help” he means Vic is rifling through his belongings while Adam tries successfully to distract Aaron from anything even remotely resembling work. 

At least he has Meg there to do some _actual_ work. She’s helping Robert in the kitchen right now, carefully unwrapping his dishes and placing them in their proper cupboards while Robert unloads the small appliances, using great caution with his espresso machine and French press. And everything is going okay until Meg says, apropos of nothing, “I’m sorry for what my dad did to you.” 

The bruises are gone, his ribs are nearly healed, and he’s only dizzy for about half of each day, but the scars from that night cut far deeper than any of that. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Meg. It’s not your fault,” he says, squirming a little at the discomfort the subject causes. 

She places a stack of plates on the counter, sighs, and turns to face him. “I know it’s not my fault, but he was still my father, and he still… Robert, he almost kill-”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” he interrupts a bit desperately, not really wishing to talk about his brush with death as he does. And the way Meg bites her lip and nods tells him that she understands. 

“So you and Aaron living together,” she says instead with a crooked sort of smile on her face. “That oughta be a laugh riot.” 

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he asks with only mild trepidation. 

“Nothing, it’s just… he’s got some quirks that might be difficult for… someone like you to get used to.” 

She laughs there, a small thing that still manages to make Robert bristle. 

“What do you mean ‘quirks’? And, furthermore, what do you mean ‘someone like you’? I’m a very laid back, accepting, accommodating human being, I’ll have you know.”

She laughs again, louder this time. “Sure you are, Robert. So Aaron leaving dirty dishes in the sink for days at a time, that’s not going to bother you? Or the wet towels on the bathroom floor? Or the crumbs in the sofa cushions?” 

“He’s stayed with me for stretches before, you know. I am aware that he’s a bit of a slob.”

“A bit?” she asks. “Yeah, maybe only a bit when he knew he was staying in _your_ place and he couldn’t really let loose. But back when he was living at the house, my dad always used to get on his case for...”

She trails off there, her eyes going glassy at the mention of her father. And Robert _really_ doesn’t want to be in this position, the kind where he needs to comfort someone he barely knows over a person who very nearly ended his life. But Meg is a friend… sort of. At the very least she’s an important part of Aaron’s life. 

So he reaches a hand out to touch her shoulder, puts on his best faux sympathetic voice, and says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

He’s expecting something politely contrite, a small thank you for his kind words. What he’s not expecting is for her to quite literally shove him away, her voice filled with rage that takes him an extra step or two back when she says, “I don’t want _you_ to be sorry, Robert! He tied you to a chair and beat you to within an inch of your life! He was… he was horrible.”

She sobs once there, balls her fist up and holds it over her mouth, then removes it a few seconds later so she can say, “He was always great with me, you know? I used to think he was… that he was _the best._ But now… I want to ask Aaron _so badly_ what he was like for him, what version of my dad he saw. Because it can’t have been the same one. It _can’t._ Aaron was terrified of coming out, did you know that?” 

Robert nods, because even though he never said it straight out, Aaron’s fears about being discovered were always plain. 

“I used to think he was being… being silly. But my dad… he killed Jackson, Robert. He tried to kill you. Who knows how many others he killed or threatened or… or… and why? Why do that? Why couldn’t he just let Aaron be? What did he ever do to deserve… to deserve…”

She starts breaking down there, tears pooling in her eyes as her shoulders begin to shake. And this kind of comfort, Robert can do, because he feels the same way as she does. 

Why Aaron? What made him the perfect mark for not one but _two_ abusive men? What made him the perfect victim to try and break down, reform in their ugly image and likeness? 

_Why Aaron?_

He wraps Meg in his arms then, tucks her head under his chin and just holds her as she cries, first silently and then a bit louder as the sobs begin to rebound out. And even though he keeps telling her it’ll be okay, he knows he’s really only lying right now. 

For both her and Aaron, it’s going to be a _long time_ before things are okay. 

A few minutes into Meg’s cry, Aaron comes walking in the room. He’s got a stack of kitchen towels in his hand and this gigantic smile on his face that falls the second he sees Meg bawling in Robert’s arms. 

He doesn’t ask what’s happened. He doesn’t need to. He just curls Meg out of Robert’s arms and wraps her in his own, whispering words that Robert can’t hear into her ear before she nods at something and Aaron looks up into Robert’s eyes. 

He looks strong, fierce, the way he always looks when he’s protecting someone else. And Robert can’t wait for the day when he wears that look to protect himself. 

“We’re gonna go for a walk around the block,” he tells Robert. And Robert just nods because what else is he supposed to do here? 

They’re siblings, after all, Aaron and Meg. They grew up together in one of the harshest environments Robert can imagine. And even though Cal had tried to shield Meg from the worst of it - a courtesy Aaron never got - she still grew up in the flaming _mob._ And so anything that Aaron wants to do right now, Robert’s just going to defer to him and leave it at that. 

They walk out of the room together, Aaron’s arm draped over Meg’s shoulder, his mouth right by her ear, still whispering calming thoughts to her. And something about the image makes Robert love Aaron even more than he already did. Something about the care he has with people in need, the compassion that’s usually buried under years of abuse. 

It’s still there, though. That goodness is _still there,_ in spite of life trying to beat it out of him. And if you can’t love someone like that, then you just can’t love anyone at all.

~*~ 

Robert never realized how little Aaron had to his name until he’s unpacking their clothes later that night. 

Everyone else has gone home and Aaron has opted to take a quick shower while Robert works on their wardrobe. But even there, even with _clothing,_ something that people tend to collect a lot of, Aaron’s selection is meager. 

He still likes to see Aaron’s things on hangers next to his, though, even if he did wish that there was a lot more on Aaron’s side. But that’s just something they’re going to have to change, he supposes. 

Aaron needs a footprint in this world, and Robert is intent on getting him one. 

He’s distracted by Aaron’s presence in the bedroom - _their_ bedroom. Distracted by the water dripping down his bare skin, by the tight black boxer briefs hugging his arse. Aaron is a distracting bloke, but despite all the lust, Robert still finds himself laughing when Aaron finishes drying his hair and drops the wet towel at the end of their bed. 

“What’s so funny?” Aaron asks, his face pinched up like the grumpy puppy Robert fell in love with. 

“Nothing, it’s just, we do have a hamper for a reason, Aaron. We don’t have to live like savages.” 

“Pfft,” is Aaron’s reply. That’s it. Nothing else before he’s moving over to the wardrobe and grabbing the purple hoodie Robert just finished putting away. 

The way Aaron sighs when he slips into the soft cotton makes Robert smile so deeply his cheeks hurt. 

It also makes _something else_ go anything but soft, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“You were wearing that the first time I saw you, you know,” Robert says conversationally as he puts another one of his tops on a hanger and sets it in its allocated spot. 

Aaron zips it up, not even bothering to put a t-shirt on under it before he says, “You remember that?” 

Robert pauses so he can turn towards Aaron, grab his hips loosely and hold him close. “Of course I remember that. I remember everything about that night.” 

Aaron quirks an eyebrow and plasters on a crooked smile. “So you’re saying you remember what a massive pervert you were?” 

“I was not!” Robert declares, scandalized. 

“Rob, you practically got off just standing there staring at me. You weren’t exactly subtle.” 

“Now that’s a bald faced lie, Aaron, and you know it. I insist that you take it back immediately.” 

Aaron snorts. Actually _snorts._ And it may be the most adorable thing in the world. 

“No chance,” he says in response to Robert’s demand. “I couldn’t get rid of you, could I?” 

“Couldn’t resist me, more like,” Robert replies before ducking down to nip lightly at Aaron’s jaw. 

He _hmms,_ but his voice is still playful when he asks, “Remind me why I’m with you and your massive ego again?” 

Robert smiles deeply against the soft skin of Aaron’s neck. “Well how long have you got?”

Aaron grabs his face and tips it up at that, presses his lips so hard to Robert’s that it makes Robert see stars. His tongue tracing along the crease between Robert’s lips before he pries them open and licks inside. 

Robert is turned on immediately. Hell, Robert was turned on the second Aaron set foot in the room. And so it doesn’t take long for him to get Aaron on the bed and out of the minimal clothes he’s actually wearing. 

“I love you,” he says almost solemnly as he looks down into Aaron’s eyes and realizes that he’d be quite happy never looking any place else again. 

“I love you, too,” Aaron replies, and with that, they spend the rest of the night proving it. 

~*~

About a month after they move to Hotten, the nightmares start. They’re not Aaron’s now, though, but Robert’s. Or maybe it’s happening for both of them and Robert just doesn’t know. It’s not like Aaron talks about anything ever. 

For Aaron, life might as well have begun the day they walked out of the hospital together. 

Robert isn’t so lucky, though. His head is apparently totally mashed over the whole thing, causing dreams that split through almost every night with a level of terror only rivaled by the actual event of his near death. 

He’s been working his old job again while Aaron learns to become a mechanic back at his uncle’s garage in Emmerdale. And both of them have simply been pretending that everything is alright, that this new life of theirs is just that: Brand new. But one night, the dam starts to break. 

They weren’t unbearable at first, the nightmares. He even did a rather good job of hiding them from Aaron for weeks. Though he’s sure Aaron’s beginning to suspect that he has a bladder condition given how many times he retreats to the loo overnight. 

He can handle it, though. Can handle reliving the beating he suffered at the hands of Aaron’s psychotic father figure 2.0 as long as when he wakes up, Aaron is still by his side, sleeping like a baby. 

He’s beautiful when he sleeps, almost ethereal really, like it’s the only time in any given day where he’s actually at peace. And so Robert does his absolute best to make sure that peace is never shattered. 

It was all manageable until it… wasn’t. 

He must scream out or thrash in his sleep that night because he wakes up covered in sweat staring into Aaron’s terrified face as he tries to shake Robert back to the land of the living. 

His first instinct is to cover it up, tell Aaron he was dreaming about the fire again, about his mum. But when Aaron settles him against the headboard and gets him a glass of water, Robert can feel the leaks in the cement as the water presses mercilessly at the other side of the dam. 

_If it were him, you’d want to know,_ Robert reminds himself. And so when Aaron inevitably asks him what the dream was about, Robert just lets it pour out. 

“It was about that night,” he says through a rasp in his throat, answering his question about whether or not he was screaming. 

“I’m right back there, right back in that chair _every single time,_ feeling myself dying. Only there, you…”

“I what?” Aaron asks as he cards his fingers through Robert’s sweat damp hair. 

Robert looks at him, looks him dead in the eye and says, “You’re just standing there, doing nothing.” 

Aaron hangs his head at that, hides his eyes from Robert as he says, “I tried. I did everything I could.” But he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He sounds like a fist, crashing into his own face, beating himself up over some perceived failure on his part. 

“I know you did, Aaron,” he says as he reaches out to tip Aaron’s chin. “I remember you trying to get to me, struggling against your brother. I remember you screaming, remember what you said. I _know_ you’d never just leave me there, just… just _watch._ It’s just what I see up here.”

He taps his own temple, feeling the way the waves of worry and fear begin to dissipate the longer he talks about this. The longer he allows himself to be _honest._

“What can I do to help?” Aaron asks, his voice desperate now, reaching for anything that might make this whole thing better. 

But all Robert can come up with is, “Just hold me. It’ll pass.”

It won’t. He knows it won’t. But Robert figures that’s enough honesty for one night. 

So he lets Aaron hold him, promises himself that he won’t let this happen again, won’t let Aaron be sucked into his own trauma when it’s clear Aaron is carrying so much more, and goes to sleep. 

Or he tries to, anyway. Sleep is just another thing that doesn’t come easily. 

~*~

“Surprise!” a group of people shout as Robert walks into the flat after work. And it takes all of his strength and willpower not to run right back out of the flat in terror. 

PTSD, his doctor had said. From his “mugging.” Super helpful in situations such as this one. 

It’s his birthday today, though, and knowing Aaron, he’d expected a night in with a slightly burnt meal and Robert’s choice of film coupled with minimal mocking. A surprise party? 

Well, he guesses there’s a reason “surprise” is in the name of the bloody thing.

Aaron rushes to his side, whispers the words, “Shit, are you okay?” into his ear because of everybody, _of course_ Aaron would be the one to notice the minute fluctuation in Robert’s expression upon hearing almost twenty people shout in his face. 

He snakes his arm around Aaron’s waist, rests his hand firmly on Aaron’s hip, and leans in to kiss his temple. 

“I’m fine,” he whispers back, even though his heart is still pounding like he’s just run a marathon. But Aaron doesn’t need to know that. Not when he’s evidently gone to a lot of trouble sorting this party for Robert. 

The decorations are _hideous,_ but they’re Aaron all over the place and so he loves them fiercely. 

“Go on then,” Aaron says once he’s evidently assured himself that Robert is, in fact, not on the verge of a panic attack. 

That’s another thing he’s got these days. It’s only happened a few times since the nightmares started, and each time Aaron’s been able to talk him down without the use of narcotics. But still, it’s unsettling. 

“Meet your public,” Aaron finishes, leaning up to kiss Robert back on his temple. And Robert resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to be spending the evening with one person he wants and about fifteen or so he doesn’t. 

One guess who the one he wants is. 

He’s never been the type to have a lot of friends, and these days, since Aaron, he’s had need of even fewer. Which means the party is thankfully fairly small. It’s just his family - minus Andy and Katie, thanks for that Aaron - Meg and Greg, and some of his coworkers with Clive as the general star of that brigade. 

“Clive told me these were your mates,” Aaron explains as Robert goes around shaking hands with and giving awkward hugs to a sea of women from the office that Clive has wanted to sleep with for ages.

“Oh yeah,” Robert says, “Best mates.” 

He’s going to need to have a word with Clive later. 

The party is cozy, though, which means that apart from the shock of his entrance, it’s the perfect gathering to celebrate his thirty-nobody’s-business-th birthday. 

Second most perfect, anyway. He was going to ask Aaron to wear a suit tonight. It was going to be _glorious._

“So what are you, like, fifty?” Meg asks as she plops down on the sofa next to him. The party is swirling around him and he’d just found a moment of peace in the eye of the hurricane, but he doesn’t mind sharing it with Meg. 

They haven’t seen her since she moved down to London, not terribly long after he and Aaron moved into their flat. And he knows Aaron has been missing her something awful. 

He’s never said anything about it, but Robert just _knows._

“Very droll. How does it feel to be a kept woman? Your ferocious feminist side must be eating it up. Tell me, what do you do all day? Eat chocolates and watch daytime telly?” 

Meg punches him in the arm. _Hard._ Something he imagines she’s done to Aaron hundreds of times, if not more. But unlike Aaron, Robert doubts he’ll ever get used to it. 

She’s got a mean right hook. 

“I went on three interviews last week, I’ll have you know. We can’t all have a boss that worships the ground we walk on that will take us back at the drop of a hat.”

Robert tenses at her words, at the _reasons behind them,_ the reasons why he’d almost left his company entirely. You know, being off making sure both he and Aaron didn’t die. Meg doesn’t notice his trepidation, though, which is just as well seeing as how he had more than his fill of her apologising the last time he saw her. 

“Speaking of, how is work going? Your work friends seem to all be very… pretty.” 

Robert groans and rolls his eyes. “These aren’t my work friends. These are the women my friend Clive has set out to shag before the end of the year. I presume he’s just trying to cull the herd.” 

Meg pinches her face up in disgust. “He sounds positively charming.” 

“You better watch out before he tries to _cull_ you,” Robert jokes, causing Meg to faux gasp and say, “Robert Sugden, did you just call me pretty?” 

They both laugh at her comment, at the ridiculousness of Robert really finding anybody attractive anymore aside from the bearded, scowly bloke currently trying to carry on a conversation with Robert’s stepmum. 

“I’m a one-pretty kind of guy these days,” Robert replies with a smile that stretches almost to his ears. 

Meg links their arms at that, leaning her head onto Robert’s shoulder before saying, obviously, “He really does love you, you know that?” 

Robert settles further into the sofa, tipping his head so that it’s resting against the top of Meg’s. “I know. Don’t really see how I deserve him, but if this is just some sort of fluke of fate, I’m going to take full advantage of it.” 

“Good!” she says perkily before detangling them and getting to her feet. “I best go rescue my boyfriend. Happy birthday, Sugden.” 

She kicks his shin at that, probably because it would be awkward to lean down and punch him. And then she heads off to where Greg is being surrounded by Clive’s prey. 

Robert laughs again. 

It feels good to laugh. 

“What’s so funny, old man?” Aaron asks as he takes up Meg’s perch beside him.

“Certainly not your jokes,” he replies, turning to face Aaron and just letting himself be pulled in by the black hole Aaron’s become in his life. But, like, a good black hole. One he’d willingly be sucked into any day. 

“I don’t think that really qualifies as an insult, coming from you,” Aaron says cheekily. 

“My jokes are _hilarious._ Just because you have no recognizable sense of humour, that does not mean I’m not funny.”

Aaron leans in at that, steals a quick kiss from his lips before pulling back just far enough to say, “You keep telling yourself that, old man,” and getting to his feet, dragging Robert up with him and adding, “No more being the wallflower for you. Vic’s been dying for you to open her present. Spoiler alert: I think it’s a new espresso machine.” 

Aaron smiles slyly at him as they both remember what happened to the last one, how it got broken as Robert fairly vigorously fucked Aaron against their kitchen counter one morning. 

“I love you, you know,” Robert says, tugging on Aaron’s arm to get him to stop moving.

He pulls Aaron into the circle of his arms, and repeats, “I really, _really_ love you.” 

Aaron kisses him, the kind of leg-buckling, intense kiss that Robert just eats up like candy before pulling back, smiling crookedly, and saying simply, “I know.” 

Cheeky bastard. 

_My cheeky bastard, though,_ Robert thinks. And that’s the rub of it, isn’t it? Never in all his life did Robert think he could be this ecstatic over being able to call another person _his._ But here they are, codependent and loving it, with absolutely no one left to stand in their way. 

Now _that’s_ a good birthday present. 

~*~

“You didn’t take your pill yet, didja?” Aaron asks later that night as they get ready for bed. 

When Robert had gone to the doctor about his nightmares and mild (to severe) panic attacks, they’d given him two kinds of pills: One for the panic and one for the sleep. He hasn’t taken the panic ones yet (what Aaron calls his “big red button” pill), but he’s taken the diazepam almost every single night. 

It’s just easier that way, knowing that he can fall asleep and stay there, peacefully swimming in a large black pool of nothingness. 

“Are you kidding me?” Robert asks as he approaches where Aaron is standing in nothing but his boxers. “I want to open my present first.” 

He tugs on the waistband of Aaron’s boxers, yanking Aaron so that their bodies almost bounce off each other. And _this,_ right here, is the birthday he wanted.

One bed, two naked bodies, and a whole lot of orgasms. 

Why in the bloody hell would he take a sleeping pill before he got to do all that? 

“Nice one,” Aaron says all sarkily. “Regular Prince Charming, you are.” 

“Oi, it’s my birthday. I can be as lecherous as I want to be.” 

“And how is that different from every other day then?” Aaron asks, and Robert can’t help the offended little squawk that escapes from his lips. 

“Well if you’ve decided that my lecherous ways are not for you,” he starts to threaten, making a move towards the other side of the bed. But Aaron, predictably, just grabs him and yanks him back, biting at his lips to get them open and _that’s_ his boyfriend. Predictable as the rising of the morning sun. 

“I did get you a real present, by the way,” Aaron says shyly when he finally pulls back from the kiss. 

Robert settles his hands on Aaron’s hips and smiles. “Really? And do I get to open this mystery present? Or have I got to perform some trials first?” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, one of Robert’s favourite expressions on him before leaning back to reach into the top drawer of his bedside table. 

“It’s nothing special. Just a little something I saw that I thought you might like,” Aaron says even shyer than before. Which is positively _adorable_ if you ask Robert. And Robert is filled with so much anticipation over what Aaron would think he likes that he rips the paper without a care and lets it fall to the floor. 

Inside the box is a pair of simple yet elegant cufflinks, black with silver letters. And something about them pulls at Robert’s heart and refuses to let go as he jokes, if only to dislodge some of the sentimentality that’s currently choking him to death, “Cufflinks? I didn’t know you knew what cufflinks were.” 

“Shut up,” Aaron says with a little shove to Robert’s shoulder. “Just because I’m not poncy enough to wear ‘em doesn’t mean I don’t know they exist. I got them engraved,” Aaron adds in case Robert didn’t catch the silver letters that make him want to cry. “An ‘R’ on one and an ‘A’ on the other, for-”

“Robert and Aaron,” Robert finishes, not because he wants to prove that he isn’t an idiot, but because he wants to say their names out loud right now, next to one another, in the same breath as he holds Aaron’s birthday present in his hands. 

“Yeah, it’s daft, I know. If you don’t like ‘em you can return ‘em. I’m sure the store will take ‘em back. I just thought-”

“Aaron,” Robert interrupts as he trails his fingers gently over the cufflinks. 

“Yeah?” 

Robert looks up into his eyes, into the blue he’s been able to memorize over all these months, and says, “They’re perfect. _You’re_ perfect. Thank you.” 

And then he kisses him because he can. Because they’re _here,_ they made it out the other side, and Robert is going to take every opportunity he has to savor that fact. 

Plus, you know, he just really, _really_ likes kissing Aaron.

~*~ 

What goes up must inevitably come down. Robert knows this fact of life. He’s been experiencing it ever since he was little and he lost his mother to a fire caused by his brother. If it goes up, gravity will just pull it right back down, and so Robert should’ve seen this coming. 

He has to get up early for work that day, earlier than Aaron anyway. And it’s warm in their room, a consequence of the temperatures shifting dangerously close to summertime. Which means their duvet is only covering Aaron’s waist as Robert stumbles around in the near dark. 

He trips over something at the end of the bed, another one of Aaron’s rogue towels, still damp from the night before. And he’s about to start mentally cursing out his boyfriend’s inability to use a hamper when something on the bed catches his eye. 

He’s not sure he’s ever noticed the bottoms of Aaron’s feet before. Even when they’re in their most ambitious sexual positions, the bottoms of Aaron’s feet are always out of view. But here, now, they’re not. And here, now, they cause Robert’s stomach to nearly plummet clean out of his body. 

He leans in to get a closer look, to make sure that he’s not jumping to unfair conclusions about Aaron. But upon closer inspection, he sees exactly what he saw from far out. 

Burn marks. 

_Fresh_ burn marks. 

All over the bottoms of Aaron’s feet. 

He has no idea what to do. What he does know is that he has to do it _now,_ that he can’t let this fester any longer, whatever it is. So he calls his boss, fakes a cough, and tells him he won’t be coming in today. And then he calls Cain, tells him Aaron is sick in bed with a stomach bug. Then and only then does Robert sit down. 

He never noticed how uncomfortable the chair next to the bed is. It looks stylish, its dark gray velour a perfect contrast to the deep purple sheets on the bed. But the longer he sits in it, waiting for Aaron to awaken, the more uncomfortable it feels.

He’s harming himself again. That’s the first thing Robert needs to come to grips with. Aaron is harming himself again, which is something that, to Robert’s knowledge, hasn’t happened since that time near the start of their relationship proper. So why would he be doing it now? 

Things have been good lately. They’ve been _great._ Yeah, they’re still living in their “temporary” flat, and yeah they’re both still having problems integrating into families they might just end up abandoning again anyway. But Aaron smiles all the time. Aaron holds Robert close in bed, kisses him like it’s the only way to breathe, what could possibly be so bad to make him want to hurt himself like this? 

About an hour and a half after Robert’s discovery, Aaron stirs. It always takes him a few minutes to pull himself all the way up to consciousness, though, which gives Robert’s stomach a chance to twist in so many knots he’s afraid he might vomit as he scrambles for what to say once Aaron notices his presence. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” Aaron hisses when he turns over and sees Robert sitting in the chair. “I thought you had an early meeting?” 

Aaron looks so amazing when he first wakes up, pillow creases on his face, his hair a fluffy mess, everything about him just so _soft_ Robert could cry and he almost does, almost cries over this. But he wants to give Aaron the benefit of the doubt first and so he says, “I cancelled the meeting because we need to talk.” 

“Can I at least have some coffee first?” Aaron asks as he leans over the side of the bed to grab his boxers and slip them on. “My head is banging.” 

“Aaron, I saw the bottoms of your feet.” 

Aaron freezes. His back is still turned to Robert, but Robert can just imagine the look on his face. The fear. The panic. The look Aaron gets anytime Robert questions the facade surrounding Aaron’s past. 

He won’t talk about it. _Any_ of it. Not Cal, not Gordon, nothing. And Robert’s tried. Lord how he’s tried. But Aaron just fobs him off every single time. 

Not today. 

“It’s nothing,” Aaron grumbles eventually, and that’s always his first step: Downplaying. 

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurting yourself again, Aaron. And I just… I deserve to know why.” 

Aaron rolls over at that, sitting up and crossing his legs in front of him, his face like thunder as he says, “You deserve to know? You _deserve_ to know? What makes you think you deserve to know anything? It’s my past, Robert, not yours.”

“Yes, but I’m your boyfriend, and you’re… fuck, Aaron, _I love you._ I just want to understand this. I just want to _help_ you.” 

“Well you can’t,” he says before getting to his feet and making a move for the door. Robert manages to get there first, though, blocking his exit before reaching up and cupping his face. 

“Are you… unhappy? Is that it? Do you not want this anymore?” Robert asks, dreading the answer. 

Aaron just rolls his eyes, though, which is vastly helpful in a situation such as this one. His tone actually annoyed when he says, “Of course I still want this, Robert. I’m happy. But happy’s got nothing to do with it.” 

“What does that even mean?” Robert asks, letting his hands slide down to Aaron’s neck. 

Aaron just shakes his head, though, tries to pull out of Robert’s grip and Robert isn’t having that. He _needs to know._

So he slides his hands further down so that they’re gripping Aaron’s shoulders, he shakes him a few sharp times, and he begs, “Please, Aaron, just tell me.” 

“I can’t tell you Robert because I don’t know!” Aaron shouts right in his face, moving back roughly to dislodge Robert’s hold. “Just because… just because I’m happy, that doesn’t mean I’m _better._ It doesn’t… doesn’t mean that they’re not still both up here.” 

He takes his pointer finger at that and jabs it into his temple a few rough times in a way that makes Robert wince. 

“It was easier when all that stuff was going on,” Aaron continues in an increasingly agitated tone. “I didn’t have time to stop and listen.” 

He turns his back on Robert, walks to the other side of the room and punches the wall before turning and sliding down to the floor, his eyes already flooded with tears.

Robert is in front of him in an instant. Is crouching down and touching Aaron’s face because he always feels a stronger connection when they’re touching one another, and maybe Aaron does too. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, Aaron,” Robert says as softly as he can. But when Aaron looks up at him, he still looks angry. 

“You think I _want_ to hurt myself?”

“No, I just-”

“I can’t stop, Robert. Not for good. I’ve never been able to. It… it goes away, sure, but it always comes back. And I thought… I thought with both of them dead, things would be better, but they’re _not._ Why aren’t they better?” 

Robert feels a tear slip down his own face, one then two then so many more as he pulls Aaron into his arms.

“I don’t know, Aaron,” he says soothingly. “I wish I did. But we’re going to find someone that does, yeah? We’re going to get you help. I promise.” 

“And you won’t,” Aaron practically whimpers, “You won’t l-leave me?” 

Robert’s arms squeeze Aaron impossibly tighter. “Of course I’m not going to leave you, you idiot. Have you not heard me say that I love you? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve said it about a thousand times already. It would be hard to miss.” 

A wet laugh escapes Aaron as he burrows deeper into Robert’s arms. And that, coupled with the relieved sigh, tells Robert that things are better, for the moment. 

And the moment is all they really have. 

~*~

“How was counseling?” Robert asks the second Aaron walks through the door. 

Aaron’s been seeing a counselor once a week all summer. And while it was difficult to convince him to go at first, he seems to be settling into it nicely now. 

“Fine,” Aaron replies as he hangs his jacket up by the front door. 

That’s all Robert ever gets. A simple _fine._ But he’s okay with that because it seems to be helping. Aaron doesn’t need to tell him specifics as long as he’s getting help.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” Aaron announces as he makes his way towards their bedroom, another common occurrence after a session like he somehow needs to wash it off his skin before he can be okay again. 

This time, though, he adds, “Wanna join me?” 

To understand why Robert’s entire body is lit up by the invitation, you’d have to know that one of the consequences of Aaron going to therapy has been a diminished sex drive. And Robert has been fine with that, honest. Sure, he misses being with Aaron in that way more than he can even put into words. But if that’s all he wanted out of Aaron, he would’ve left him a long time ago. 

Aaron is different from everyone that came before him. Aaron is funny and moody and sarcastic and smart and interesting and just… just _Aaron._ So the sex that Robert used to base every relationship in his life on never seems so indispensable when it comes to Aaron. 

He’s not going to say that he isn’t happy to hear that tone in Aaron’s voice again, that something doesn’t stir inside of him at the way Aaron looks over his shoulder and smirks at him. So he gets to his feet and literally comes running because if Aaron actually wants to do this, Robert is not going to complain. 

They strip each other quickly and expertly thanks to months of practice and familiarity, the pair of them giggling like children as a trail of clothes spreads from the sitting room to the loo that Robert will gladly clean up later. 

As they wait for the water to turn warm, Robert nips at Aaron’s collar bone, sucking little bruises that will likely not outlast the day. But that’s okay as well - he’ll just make more later. One hand firm on Aaron’s hip while his other hand strokes him to hardness in a way that could make Robert cry, that’s how much he wants him.

How much he _always_ wants him. 

“You sure about this?” he asks into the warm crook of Aaron’s neck. And the way that Aaron twists his hand around Robert’s cock while biting out a sexy little, “Fuck yes,” makes Robert almost come right then and there. 

They keep supplies in the bathroom. They keep supplies everywhere, in fact. Under the sofa cushions, in a kitchen drawer, on both sides of the bed. Their entire flat is littered with little treasure troves of debauchery which means they don’t have to go far to find what they need. 

“Which way do you want this?” Robert asks desperately once they’re under the water, the heat and steam making him almost as dizzy as Aaron’s lips are. 

Aaron pulls his head ‘round, stares him straight in the eyes and says, “I want to feel you take every damn inch of me.” 

Robert can’t argue with that. 

The prep is hasty but still more than enough. That’s one thing he’s learned about Aaron over these months is that while he used to only have it rough and hard and painful, now he’s more careful than any man Robert has ever been with. 

It’s refreshing. And very, very sexy. It’s also why, when Aaron slides into him, all Robert feels is unmitigated bliss. 

It still, to this very day, astounds Robert how perfectly they fit together in every way imaginable. They’re like a puzzle, but one of those 3D ones that keeps building up and up and _up._ Like every time Robert figures they’ve reached the top, that there’s no place else for them to go, Aaron grabs his arm and drags him up even farther so that they’re almost touching the bloody sky. 

He never thought he’d have this kind of love. Hell, he never thought this kind of love actually _existed._ But he’s here now, smack in the middle of it, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The shower wall seems to be the only cool spot in the entire universe as Robert presses his face against it, bracing his body with his hands as Aaron thrusts into him over and over until he’s certain he’s going mad from it. The sensations overwhelming, pressing on every corner of his body until he’s coming all over the cool wall, completely untouched. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Aaron hisses before thrusting a few more times and filling the condom, his body shuddering where it collapses against Robert’s back. And then… well, then it’s just laughter again, isn’t it? Because they’re in love. They’re free and they’re in love and life is just ridiculous like that sometimes. 

So ridiculous that all you can do is laugh.

~*~

Aaron is gone. Robert had woken up to an empty bed this morning, assuming that Aaron had just gone in early to work. But he’s been texting and calling all day, freaking out in the loos at his office and getting nothing in return. And so when Robert steps back into their flat at five pm, he knows exactly what he’s going to find. 

Nothing. 

He calls around to everyone he can think of. To Chas and Cain, neither of whom have seen him all day. To Adam. To Meg, whose phone is unhelpfully off. He even tries calling some of the lesser Dingles that Aaron’s only met a few times, the Belles and Lisas and Zaks of the world. But every time he calls someone, he just comes up empty.

Aaron is gone. 

He paces around the flat that night, unable to eat, to drink, to sit. All he can do is _move_ like he’s afraid if he stops, the fear and panic will catch up with him only it does in the end anyway. 

His chest tightens no matter how hard he tries to stop it, his heart beating fast, his arms and fingers tingling as his stomach seizes and his eyes go blurry. The day of low level fear cranks up immediately to high as his breath becomes laboured and thin. 

He hasn’t had one of these in months, but he’s having one now. He’s getting dizzy from how poorly he’s breathing as he grabs onto the kitchen counter with white knuckles and desperately tries to hold himself together as every awful thought, every hidden fear he’s had over the past eight months just comes washing over him like a tidal wave. 

It has to be Liam. He realized that Aaron was still a threat to him after all and he took him. But where? Back to the farmhouse? No, that wouldn’t make sense. The whole place burned down “mysteriously” within a week of Robert’s near death experience. 

Would he take him back to Leeds then? Back to the house? To the MacFarlane fortress? 

Aaron is _gone_ and Robert has no idea how to find him. And the only one who might know still has her bloody phone turned off and Robert can’t _breathe_ anymore. Can barely remember what breathing even _is_ as he paces around his flat… around _his and Aaron’s flat…_ and tries to tell himself that Aaron isn’t already dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s what Aaron used to tell him to do when he’d have these attacks. 

“I’ve had millions of them,” he’d told Robert the first time it happened. “Just listen to me and I’ll get you through it.”

Only he’s not here to help Robert this time. Not here for Robert to talk to in the middle of the night. Not here for Robert to call from the toilets at work or from a layby he needed to pull into on the way home because his eyesight was too poor to see the road. 

Aaron isn’t here to help him and Robert… well he needs him, doesn’t he? To tell him to breathe. To hold his hands. To kiss his cheek and promise him he’s not going to die from this, that it’ll pass, that his body will relax again, and he _needs Aaron._

He collapses on the sofa eventually, his head between his legs as he takes shallow, gasping breaths. His whole body wracked by the tremors, shook by the earthquake, tectonic bloody plates scraping together at the core of him as he breathes once… twice… as many times as he can until the door opens and everything in the world suddenly stops. 

He’s crying as he runs to meet Aaron, tears just streaming down his face as he wraps his arms around _Aaron,_ safe and sound. And he’s still so out of it that he barely notices that Aaron doesn’t lift his arms to hug him back. 

All he cares about is that Aaron is here. That he can breathe and Aaron is _here._ Nothing else matters, only that’s not true either because Robert was in hell _all day,_ seventh ring and everything. And Aaron is just standing in the door, blank like someone erased his entire personality. And Robert just can’t _deal with this right now._

So he’s louder than he’d usually like to be when he asks, “Where the hell were you?” His voice cracking out of desperation as he takes a few steps back from Aaron so he can come properly inside the flat. 

Aaron looks up at him and blinks. Just that. Just blinking. His face utterly blank as he stares out at Robert like he’s never even met him before. 

Robert approaches him again, grabs his shoulders and shakes him lightly, the anger curbing slightly as he asks again, “Where were you, Aaron? I’ve been worried sick.” 

“I went to London,” Aaron replies, his voice monotone, deader than he’s probably ever heard it. And the fear that Aaron’s sudden presence had snapped him out of begins to crawl up Robert’s windpipe again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his own voice pinched from the pressure still squeezing his lungs. 

He looks at Robert again, tips his head like he’s trying to remember who he is and says, “I thought I did.” 

Anger pulses through Robert’s fingertips, and he tries to control it, honestly he does. There’s clearly something wrong with Aaron right now. But there’s also something wrong with _him._ He just spent the entire day afraid that Aaron was dead. So he reckons he’s due a bit of agitation when he says, “Well you didn’t. And your phone’s been off all bloody day.” 

He lets go of Aaron at that, turns around so that he can pace a few times, try to dispel some of the pent up energy he’s still got coursing through his veins. But it doesn’t seem to help as Aaron says unhelpfully behind him, “You didn’t try Meg?” 

Robert laughs, a sharp bark of it exploding out of his chest before he turns on Aaron and throws his hands up in the air. “Oh, what a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that? Oh wait. I did. And she wasn’t answering either.” 

Aaron just continues to blink dully at him, and Robert… well he loses it a little bit, doesn’t he. 

“You can’t just go off like that, Aaron!” he shouts. “I thought the worst. That Liam had you or that you were dead in a ditch somewhere. The only thing that stopped me from calling the police was that your car was gone and I doubted you were abducted in your own motor. What the _hell_ was so urgent in London that you had to leave in the middle of the night and go all radio silent for a full day, huh? What?”

“I don’t wanna tell you,” Aaron says so quietly that Robert almost doesn’t hear it. Only he _does_ hear it. And it pisses him off even worse.

“Excuse me?” he asks, his tone still just as agitated as it was before as his hands ball into fists at his sides. 

“I said I don’t want to tell you,” Aaron replies, this time with a little more force than he’s exhibited since coming home. Which is something Robert would be relieved about if Aaron weren’t willfully refusing to tell him what’s going on. 

“Why?” Robert asks because there’s no other possible thing he could say right now. 

“Because it’ll upset you.” 

Robert laughs again, looks down at his own body and says, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Aaron, I’m already upset. I’ve been upset _all day._ I can’t imagine anything that could possibly make me feel worse right now so you might as well just tell me.” 

Aaron studies him for a moment, his lip pulled between his teeth and his eyes keen before he opens his mouth and says, “Fine. It was Cal’s birthday today and I just felt like seeing my sister. Is that alright with you?” 

The fight leaves Robert in such a rush that he has to sit on the arm of the sofa to keep from falling over entirely. His voice soft now, sympathetic despite his own pain when he replies, “Of course it’s alright, Aaron. You know that you can do whatever you need to to get better. You just need to tell me, alright? You can’t… you can’t just go off without telling me.”

Aaron nods at him, still just chewing on his lip like he wants to tear it off completely before stopping long enough to say, “I won’t do that again, I promise. But… do you mind if I go have a lie down? I’ve been driving a lot today.” 

Robert knows it wasn’t the driving that wore Aaron out, the same way it wasn’t the long day of work that wore Robert out. Which is why he offers to make them both a brew before turning in for an early night in bed. 

He tries not to notice that Aaron doesn’t curl into his side like normal, that he has his back to Robert, in fact, curled up on the far edge of the bed. But there are only so many things he can ignore today. 

~*~

His worst fears are confirmed when Aaron doesn’t get out of bed the next morning. 

He seemingly hasn’t moved a muscle all night, his body still pulled in tight to itself, still turned away from Robert. And so it’s not all that surprising when Robert tries to coax him out of bed with eggs and bacon and all Aaron does is stay resolutely still. 

Thankfully it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t need to call into work to take care of Aaron. Not that there’s much he can do in this type of situation, of course. 

He remembers the last time clearly, Aaron showing up at his flat, “turtling” for days while Robert waited patiently for him to come out of his haze. And he’s all ready to do that again, to be the good boyfriend _again,_ but for some reason he can’t just let it lie this time. 

So that night, when Aaron refuses his third meal of the day, Robert snaps. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting the birthday of that bastard slip you into this,” he says, not harshly, or not as harshly as he could, but not as gently as he’s been all day. 

Aaron doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything, in fact, to indicate that he even heard what Robert just said. 

“Just because he didn’t rape you, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a monster. Aaron, can’t you see the way he manipulated you? Your whole _life_ was spent doing what _he_ wanted you to do. I mean, the man even used to prostitute you out to fellow drug dealers!” 

Oh shit. He wasn’t supposed to say that. 

He backs off immediately, says a quiet, “You can’t let him take you down like this,” before retreating out of the bedroom. And once he’s there, he breathes a giant sigh of relief that Aaron didn’t seem to register what he said about Cal. 

There were a lot of things thrown at Robert the night he was held captive. A lot of truths about Aaron’s life and Cal’s supposed all-consuming power over it that Robert would like to forget. Truths that he swore he’d never tell Aaron because Aaron didn’t need more grief piled on him. 

It had simply slipped out, the anger he still feels at Cal rising up to show its ugly face momentarily as he was forced to watch the person he loves more than anyone else in this world collapse in on himself simply because he still feels, at some level, like that son of a bitch is still his father. 

It makes Robert sick. Makes him want to kill Cal all over again. 

He hears footsteps a few minutes later. They’re light, tentative, but they’re _there._ And Robert would feel grateful for them if the first words out of Aaron’s mouth weren’t, “What did you mean he prostituted me?” 

Robert looks up from where he’s sitting, catches sight of Aaron just standing there in his boxers, looking so lost it’s painful. And all he can say is an honest, “I didn’t want to tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

Robert moves over, pats the sofa and waits for Aaron to sit next to him before he says, “Cal was bragging that night, in between punches. Bragging about how much he,” Robert pauses, has to swallow down bile before he can finish, “how much he _owned_ you. And one… Aaron, one of the things he said was that he used to make deals… with other dealers. He’d tell them about you… what you were willing to do… sexually,” he whispers, the word painful as it's ripped from Robert’s chest. “And then he’d point them in your direction and let you… let you…”

Aaron gets up before Robert can say another word, which is probably for the best because he’d run out of words to say anyway. Before Aaron can retreat back to the bedroom, though, Robert catches him, spinning him around and trying to hold him in his arms. 

Aaron doesn’t seem to want comfort, though, judging by the way he shoves Robert off of him. His eyes, previously dead, now full of fire as he shouts, “I didn’t mean anything to him, did I?!” 

Robert doesn’t know what to say. The truth - no, he didn’t - that might set Aaron off worse, or the lie - yes, he did - that will only perpetuate the false image Aaron has concocted of the man he once believed to be like a father to him. 

He doesn’t get a chance to say either, not before Aaron’s whole body sags where he stands. His voice defeated as he practically whispers, “He almost killed you.” 

“Hey, hey,” Robert says as he moves into Aaron’s space once again, his arms pulling him in and this time, thankfully, Aaron goes with it. 

“We’ve already been over all of that, Aaron, a million times or more. There’s no need to dig it up now. And I’m sorry… I’m sorry I told you. It wasn’t my place to… to piss on his grave.” 

“Fuck him,” Aaron bites out, his face buried in the crook of Robert’s neck like it always is when he’s upset. Or scared. Or sad. Or anything other than Aaron. “He can rot in hell, yeah?” 

Robert wants to laugh at that, but all he does is squeeze Aaron tighter and say, “Yeah, he can rot in hell.”

~*~

For their first Christmas, the Dingles, Sugdens and Meg all invite them to spend the holiday outside of Hotten. In the end, they decide it’ll be just a family thing, which to them means they spend their first Christmas alone, together. 

It’s just like any other day only better because you haven’t seen Aaron’s eyes until you’ve seen them surrounded by twinkle lights. 

He looks like a bloody angel. 

A few weeks later they’re sitting down at the kitchen table, when Robert says out of nowhere, “Your mum wanted to throw you a big Dingle knees up for your birthday.” 

Aaron groans, because even though him and his mum are starting to find some sort of common ground between them, shaky as it may be (he and Robert even go to her place once a month for tea), a Dingle knees up is nowhere near what he likely wants for his birthday. 

“So,” Robert continues before Aaron can whinge, “I thought we’d go to the airport instead.” 

He slides an envelope over to Aaron at that, feels a smile cross his face at Aaron’s adorable confusion as he opens the envelope and finds two tickets to, “Barcelona?” 

“Happy birthday, Mr. Prentiss,” Robert says before leaning over to kiss Aaron smack on the lips, the taste or orange still sharp on his tongue. 

“You know it’s probably not safe to travel with false passports,” Aaron says, but he’s grinning, which means Robert’s won him over already. 

So Robert just shrugs and kisses him again. “I guess that means we’ll just have to stay out of trouble.” 

Their first night in Barcelona, Aaron lets Robert take him out for a fancy birthday dinner. It’s not really his scene, but there aren’t many burger joints in the vicinity of their rather posh hotel, so they’ll both just have to make do. 

They get dressed up for the night, which is more of a gift to Robert than to Aaron, given how long he’s been waiting to see Aaron in a suit again. 

He’s only ever seen it once, that night at the club when Robert stupidly tried to stalk him into sexual submission. But here, now, in this place, it means so much more to him. 

He’s gorgeous in a dark blue number, black shirt and black tie offsetting the shine of the suit itself. The whole ensemble far outclassing Robert’s burgundy suit which is just fine by him. 

Let the whole world spend the evening staring at Aaron. Let every single person they come into contact with know that Robert is the one that gets to go home with him. 

He puts the cufflinks on last, watching Aaron’s face soften as he watches him do it. His movements languid as he walks over to Robert and runs his thumbs gently over the “R” and “A” engraved on the cufflinks. 

“I love you, Rob,” he says softly, the nickname traveling right up Robert’s spine.

“I love you too, Aaron,” he replies with a kiss, and truer words… they were never spoken. 

Robert is sitting on the bed later that night, his suit jacket discarded but the rest of his suit still in place, his legs crossed in front of him as he watches whatever game Aaron’s put on the telly. 

“You know, I was thinking of changing my name!” Aaron calls from the loo, his hands in his pockets as he enters the bedroom. 

“To what? Prentiss?” Robert laughs. “Or are you feeling a little Dingle love these days? Please don’t tell me you want to go with MacFarlane.”

“God, no!” Aaron exclaims before pulling a small black box out of his pocket and tossing it at Robert’s chest. 

“I was thinking Sugden.” 

Robert’s heart stops. It genuinely _stops_ as he stares down at the ring box shaking in his trembling fingers. His voice completely stolen as he opens his mouth, closes it, then repeats the entire stupid performance over again. 

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to,” Aaron says nervously as he makes his way over to the bed, mistakenly taking Robert’s silence for disagreement. “I mean, we haven’t even been together for a year yet. And I know I’m a handful… more than that, even. I just wanted to-”

“Aaron, shut up,” Robert interrupts, holding a hand up to silence Aaron before he uses that same hand to open the box. 

The ring is perfect, a simple titanium band with a line engraved around the middle. A band that is somehow both perfectly Aaron and perfectly Robert at the exact same time. And something about that thought finally breaks him out of his trance. 

“Yes,” he says breathlessly, his eyes a little wild as they look up at where Aaron is now sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot!” 

He dives for Aaron then, closing the box first to make sure he doesn’t lose the precious ring. And before they know it, they’re both rolling around on the bed, kissing each other like teenagers on their first bloody date.

“I love you so much, Mr. Sugden,” Aaron says from where Robert’s got him pinned beneath him, half naked and all glorious. 

“I love you so much too, Mr. Sugden,” Robert replies, and something about that… 

Well, let’s just say there isn’t a dry eye in the house tonight. 

Later, when they’re both naked and sated, Robert allows himself to think about the last year. How he ever thought, way back when, that he could just have Aaron once and be done with him he’ll never know. Because now… now he gets to be with him for the rest of his life and still, that doesn’t seem like it’ll be enough. 

Nothing will ever be enough where Aaron is concerned. 

For now, though, he’ll hold him in his arms. And he’ll think about how there are going to be downs, he knows that. But there will also be ups. _So many ups._

Like the way Aaron had looked when he’d slipped into his beloved purple hoodie that first night in their flat together. 

Like the way Aaron had been at his side immediately when Robert’s surprise birthday party almost turned into a meltdown. 

Like meeting Aaron at work for lunch, watching him standing in the middle of the street in Emmerdale in overalls, his head tipped back to the sun. 

Like the way his eyes had danced as their plane finally landed in Barcelona after so many months of planning to come here. 

Like the way Aaron’s face lit up when he said he wanted to be a Sugden. 

That’s what makes it worth it, all those moments and so many more. Because there will be ups and downs in their life, but in the end, they’ll be together, and that’s enough. 

They are enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much thanks to everyone that came along on this little journey with me. To everyone that read this, commented on this, gave kudos, or screamed with me on Tumblr - y’all carried me through this, I swear, so thank you for that!
> 
> I’m gonna take a teeny tiny break here and finally read softlyspoken’s “Both Sides of the Moon” (so excited!) before coming back with my next fic, “The Scars On Our Hearts,” a canon divergent story where Aaron moves to the Isle of Wight. I hope to see y’all back here soon! Later taters. <3


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